


Two Steps Forward

by deepdives



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, Smut, dramione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 57,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deepdives/pseuds/deepdives
Summary: It's been 5 years since the defeat of Voldemort. Most of the world has moved forward, but, for a few, life has stagnated. One day, Hermione Granger looks up from her desk and finds that everyone she knows is moving forward while she's in the same place she's always been. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy finds himself suddenly thrust back into the fold of Wizarding society after a self-imposed exile.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them. 
> 
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

Monday, December 8, 2003

 

_Purebloods are people too._

 

Hermione repeated the mantra to herself as she struggled to maintain interest in the man before her. She shifted the stack of papers in her arms awkwardly to check her wristwatch. This is why she stayed in her office.

 

Cormac McLaggen, newly appointed Junior Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation (and constant fly in Hermione’s salad), flashed his pearly white teeth while he tried for the umpteenth time to convince her to go out with him. He had been relentless following his latest promotion, driven by political ambition.

 

Like Slughorn, Cormac liked to surround himself with the best. Hermione Granger was the best, by his measure. An ideal political match.

 

“Love, it’ll be just like old times.” The golden-haired man grinned cockily at Hermione. “Except now we’ve _actualized_.”

 

"Pardon?" Hermione could have smacked herself in the face, as she gave the man an opening. _Think before you speak!_

 

Hermione felt her skin crawl as Cormac tutted at her like she was some kind of inane school girl.

 

"I mean, you and I are finally reaching positions within the Ministry that reflect our true potential. Can you imagine what we could do together?"

 

Hermione stepped away from him as he reached out a hand to stroke the side of her arm. It was a classic Cormac move, and, for some of the younger witches in the building, it worked.

 

“I actually have to be off, Cormac.” Hermione tried to feign an apologetic smile, but she felt it come out as a grimace. Cormac nodded his head in commiseration, mistaking her expression for regret.

 

“No rest for the wicked, eh Granger? I owl you later about that date.” He winked at her and then promptly turned on his heel and strutted away down the hall.

 

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief before glancing down at the time. She jumped into motion, sweeping into her office to exchange the stack of papers in her arms for the latest draft of the Wolfsbane Equity Act, or W.E.A. for short.

 

She was having a Monday. Actually several Mondays.

 

As the youngest Head of the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in history, Hermione had hit the ground running with her first target: werewolf rights. Harry and Ron had been enthusiastic about joining her, but now, 5 years on, the bulk of the movement’s momentum rested on the Golden Girl.

 

After weekends spent pouring over her final W.E.A. drafts, she had finally begun to feel sorted out. Her office had then owled the latest field reports, and she had had to rework the wording on Werewolf virus strains and heredity. She had worked through lunch after lunch, shooing Harry’s ministry owl away with treats. To her relief, Elana, Hermione's assistant and recent Hogwarts graduate, had dropped another takeaway bag on the desk.

 

Elana was worth her weight in gold. A no-nonsense Ravenclaw with a glare that could freeze a Horntail in its tracks and an almost precognitive foresight for when her boss was working through lunch. Hermione hadn’t had to leave the safety of her office for the general cafeteria in weeks. She fished a salad wrap out of the bag and ripped off its wrapper. She just had time to get some food down before her meeting with Kingsley.

 

These white papers were her life until they passed into law, as everyone assured her it would. She was the brightest witch of her age, after all.

 

Hermione could hear her mother’s gentle advice: “Fine words butter no parsnips, sweetheart. Best to see it through to the end properly.”

 

Hermione internally agreed as she munched on the salad wrap. Time spent now would offset any chance of failure later. Hermione blew a wayward strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun and refocused on the matter at hand. Checking her wall clock with a sigh, Hermione took one last bite before returning the wrap to its bag. She'd gotten through half of it.

 

Balancing the files containing the latest draft of W.E.A. in her arms, Hermione made her way to her meeting with Kingsley.

 

At a brisk pace, Hermione usually had three minutes between her office and Kingsley’s, if the lift was running efficiently. It was where she usually did her last minute edits. 

 

Hermione skimmed through the appendices, as she waited for the lift to arrive. She murmured her greetings to Edward, the lift attendant, and pulled a pencil out of her hair to mark a few points in the footnotes.

 

Flipping through the pages, Hermione knew that even the minor edits she was marking in now would probably mean at least one more revision after she took Kingsley’s feedback into account. Kingsley would be taking the proposal to the Wizengamot, and she would know in a matter of days if it had passed.

 

She felt the tension creeping into her neck. There was an end to this madness in sight, and it was always in the final stretch that her neuroses really came out to play. She went over her affirmations.

 

_She had earned her place in wizard society. No cabinet of stuffed up old wizards and witches could push her out. She was a brilliant witch._

 

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She rolled her neck slowly in an effort to center herself slightly before this last meeting. Thirty seconds. She exhaled.

 

 

~ 5 minutes earlier ~

 

 

The clipped tones of Auror-issue, dragon hide boots bounced off of the ministry’s marble floors. Draco Malfoy strode through the black halls purposefully.

 

His white-blond hair was a beacon in a muted sea of hoods and dark hats. Stepping into a lift and shaking off his robes, Draco muttered, “Minister’s Office” to the attendant.

 

The young wizard squirmed and shifted his eyes downwards to avoid Draco’s glance. No one else entered the lift. The attendant looked out into the crowd only to find that everyone suddenly and conveniently didn’t need the lift.

 

“Anyone?”

 

Draco felt the Malfoy sneer as it slid onto his face. It was always so good to be back in Wizarding London.

 

“Minister’s Office!” The boy called out, his hand trembling before he closed himself in with the former Dark wizard behind him.

 

As the levels of the Ministry flitted past the lift windows, Draco resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had a mountain of paperwork waiting for him at a desk back in Kiev. What did Kingsley want?

 

“Department of Magical Creatures”, the lift attendant announced.

 

Draco felt his lip to curl in disdain. As he made to correct the idiot manning the controls, the lift doors opened and the scent of mint leaves and honey flooded in.

 

“Morning Miss Granger!”

 

“Edward, good morning. Minister’s Office, please.”

 

“Right away, Miss Granger.”

 

The doors to the elevator closed once more, dragging them deeper into the bowels of the Ministry.

 

Of course, she had her head and almost all of that hair bent over a stack of reports. When she pulled a pencil out of her bird’s nest, Draco had to restrain himself from commenting on it. She hadn’t noticed his presence, and it would be better if she didn’t.

 

Draco didn’t, however, prevent his eyes from rolling skyward when he noticed what she was wearing. What an uproar she must have been causing in the Wizengamot with her shapeless, Muggle trousers. He wondered if she even knew what Wizarding social norms she was disrupting with her abominable fashion choices. Most likely not.

 

Most of those withered, old toads hadn’t seen a woman’s ankles in the last century. He almost pitied them that the only skin they got to see was attached to the least sexually inspiring individual in recent recorded history.

 

Draco hoped, at least, he had been scheduled in before her. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to wait through one of Granger’s meetings. Shacklebolt’s vague summons had disrupted a month-long operation. That should at least put him before the bushy-haired, moral menace of the Ministry.

 

An audible sigh broke his silence. It was barely a noise, but hearing something so unconsciously feminine after weeks isolated in the mountains with only drunkards for company caused something inside him to spool and tighten. She was stretching her neck and rolling her shoulders back, probably cramped from dragging her books and papers around all day. Draco gritted his teeth.

 

There was a slight flush to her cheeks. Only a swot like her could get this worked up about white papers. She was the definition of a first-rate bore.

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the weedy attendant’s eyes flit appreciatively over the woman in front of him. Malfoy couldn’t catch the words before they left his mouth.

 

“You are a witch, Granger. For Merlin’s sake, shrink the damn papers if they are so heavy.”

 

He saw the line of her shoulders tense just slightly before she turned around to face him.

 

Like all Gryffindors, she tended to look at a person’s whole face—something Draco had become accustomed to begrudgingly. It was like facing the sun, and he was unable to hold her gaze. He felt the familiar irritation he always associated with her, as he waited for her to snap back at him.

 

Her head tilted slightly as she considered him. He could practically hear the wheels turning. Her eyes flicked over to the lift attendant, considering their captive audience. She glanced at the stubble on Draco’s chin, his unkempt hair and the bags under his eyes. His teeth clenched under the scrutiny.

 

The silence seemed to stretch forward under her appraisal. Malfoy felt a barbed insult rise to his tongue. The lift whistled to a stop. She blinked and released a shaky breath.

 

“Welcome back, Malfoy.”

 

He heard her brisk footsteps before he registered her soft-spoken words. The clicks of her heels echoed down the hall and disappeared behind the iron doors of the Minister’s office. His low-grade irritation flared into frustration.

 

Since Hogwarts, Granger’s holier than thou attitude had continued to get under his skin, especially because she repeatedly flouted the rules whenever it had benefited her and her boys. She was a fucking hypocrite, and it never ceased to irritate the shit out of him.

 

Draco had done a lot of work to reform his image, but she seemed solely capable of dragging him back to adolescence.

 

If he was a recovering alcoholic, Granger was a snifter of brandy.

 

“This is the Minister of Magic’s Office, Auror Malfoy.” The kid was looking at him expectantly.

 

He set his jaw. Giving a curt nod, Draco stepped out the lift. As the box rushed back up towards the ground floor, Draco flexed his hands, forcing them to relax and return back to his sides. The secretary at the desk made brief eye contact with him and then pointedly inclined her head towards a leather sofa to his right.

 

“The Minister just took a meeting. It might be a bit of a wait, dear.”

 

_Welcome back. Fucking unbelievable._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.  
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.
> 
> Updates will be once a week!

_A few days later…_

_Ministry of Magic Archives, Ministry of Magic_

 

A bell sounded, and a memo appeared on the brass plaque on the desk: “Mr. Nott, Auror Malfoy is here. He doesn’t have an appointment.”

 

The man touched his hand to the plaque and the previous message disappeared and was replaced by another: “Thank you, Gladys. You can let him in.”

 

Without looking up from his desk, Theodore Nott flicked his wand at the mahogany office door to unlock it.

 

Draco swept into the room, depositing his cloak on a chair and walking brusquely over to cabinet containing Theo's collection of Ogden’s Finest.

 

“Welcome ba—“

 

“Yes, welcome back.” Draco snipped testily as he poured himself a finger of whiskey. Two fingers actually.Maybe three.

 

“You’re a regular Pygmy Puff this morning. Kiev must be lovely.” Theo said when Draco made no attempt to greet him properly. “Heard you’ve been back for a while now. Not that you bothered to check in.”

 

“Shut up, Theo.”

 

Theo ignored his best friend and traced the lines of the ancient document he had been analyzing with his wand. He worked in the Ministry’s historical archives, collecting and documenting artifacts that came to the Ministry. This map had the potential to be intriguing. It appeared to have been charmed to track ley lines for Beltane. Pity it looked to be scrawled on human skin.

 

“The Head Auror is taking leave.” Draco dropped a matching tumbler of whiskey in front of Theo pinning him with a meaningful look.

 

Theo sighed, glared at his best mate and pointedly cast a protection charm on the ostensibly priceless magical artifact. He took the offering from Draco and the cue that his undivided attention was required.

 

“As well she should. She’s as big as a house these days.” Theo glanced at the tumbler of whiskey in his hand and then at his wall clock. Technically it was almost lunch. He ran his fingers down the sides of the glass before lifting it to his lips.

 

“And you can just call her by her given name. We all know you’re bosom buddies, and you’ve never been good at formalities.”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Theo.” Draco continued, ignoring the smirk on this friend’s face. “Shacklebolt called me in from the field.”

 

Theo rolled his eyes.

 

“Obviously. Twat.”

 

“Permanently. Shacklebolt wants me to run the Auror Office in the interim.”

 

Theo choked a bit and winced at the burning sensation in his windpipe.

 

“Not as Head Auror?” At Draco’s almost imperceptible nod, Theo continued. “You accepted?”

 

“I don’t exactly have a way of turning this down.” Draco ran a hand through his hair, ruining the effect of the spell that had kept it in a presentable coif. It was almost shoulder length and ragged at the ends.

 

He obviously hadn’t been in polite society for this latest mission, Theo thought. His mother wouldn’t be pleased. Draco’s mumbling interrupted his musings.

 

“...security clearances...haven’t been home to speak to Mother...going to have to find a flat, the Manor will be out of the question...the commute alone...when this hits the press...”

 

At Theo’s bark of laughter, Draco stopped pacing to glance at one of his oldest friends.

 

“A Malfoy as Head Auror. What in Salazar’s name is Shacklebolt thinking? When are they going to announce it?”

 

Draco felt the rush of adrenaline cool inside of him as he watched Theo process the news.

 

Head Auror.

 

He walked over to the chair across from Theo’s and slumped into it. He held the glass tumbler, now empty, save for the ice, to his temple.

 

“No official announcement yet. I’m probably going to have to attend the gala. You’re coming with me.”

 

“How romantic.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Theo smirked as he watched Draco settle into a chair sullenly.

 

“Draco Malfoy, Head Auror.”

 

Silver eyes met brown with a flicker of vulnerability.

 

“Is this a mistake?”

 

“As if that would stop you.” Theo paused. “I need to get new robes.”

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

_The Smoking Wand, a popular lunch spot for Ministry employees_

 

“You absolutely are.”

 

“Ginny, I’m telling you...”

 

“No excuses. This is going to be your opportunity to cut loose with us—with me—after months of being holed up in that cave you call an office.”

 

Hermione ducked her head resignedly over her chips. Ginny had a point. She’d been missing out. The Ministry’s New Year Gala was at the dead bottom of Hermione’s priority list at the moment. The invitation was currently serving as a coaster for her mug.

 

Ginny leaned across the table, adjusted her swollen midsection, and placed her hand on Hermione’s.

 

“Let’s have a bit of a laugh before Harry and I never see daylight again.” Hermione smiled as her best friend winked at her cheekily.

 

Ginny was glowing. Every bit the expectant mother. Hermione felt a pang of guilt for not having been around in the past few months.

 

“Fine.” Hermione relented, watching Ginny wiggle excitedly in her booth seat. “But it’s a Ministry event, so ‘cutting loose’ is definitely off the table.”

 

“We could pre-game.”

 

“I could kill Harry for teaching you about pre-gaming, and you can’t even drink!”

 

“I am allowed to live vicariously through my friends. I’ve earned it.”

 

Hermione quickly covered her laugh with a cough when she saw the shrewd look in Ginny’s eyes. Honestly, the woman should’ve been in Slytherin.

 

“We can do this the easy way or the ‘you wake up in the bathtub at Grimmauld with a massive hangover’ way.”

 

“That happened once!”

 

Ginny shrugged and sipped her water pointedly. Hermione sighed.

 

“Fine. Yes to the gala. No to pre-gaming. Final offer.”

 

“That’s wonderful!” Ginny gushed, flipping like a switch.

 

“And no matchmaking.”

 

Ginny pursed her lips, reminding Hermione of Molly to a disturbing degree.

 

“Ginny.” Hermione felt this was her hill to die on. “If I go, I’m going alone.”

 

Ginny practically vibrated with disapproval, but she evidently did know when to give up.

 

“Fine. You have to come over soon so we can decide what you are going to wear. We can resize one of my dresses for you, so no complaints!”

 

At Hermione’s look, Ginny leveled another Molly Weasley-grade stare at her.

 

“I have a perfectly serviceable-“

 

“A ‘perfectly serviceable’ dress is not appropriate for this gala. We are celebrating your amazing success on the Wolfsbane Act and my last day of work!”

 

The Wolfsbane Equity Act had passed by a narrow margin that morning. This time next year, the Ministry would subsidize and distribute Wolfsbane to all werewolves in Wizarding Britain. It would also jumpstart and education initiative aimed at public education. It was a sorely needed step towards healing the rifts between the magical communities.

 

Hermione felt that knot of tension loosen slightly in her chest.

 

She had done that. She, the youngest Head of her department in history and the first Muggleborn. She and the others from Dumbledore’s Army and the Order had flooded the Ministry following the War. They had hoped to wash away the old, prejudicial laws but had found themselves dragged into the mire of bureaucracy. Days like this were few and far between. Victories. Glimpses of a future still to come.

 

Sure, there were a few like Harry and Ginny who also managed to carve out a little slice of happiness for themselves. The few lucky ones. Hermione looked over at her best friend, watching Ginny hum as she rested one hand protectively over her stomach and used the other to funnel chips into her mouth.

 

Grey eyes and white-blond hair appeared in her mind, unbidden. Hermione blew out a breath at the unwelcome intrusion to her thoughts. Every few months, when he came in from his missions, they usually ran into each other.

 

Their semi-regular interactions over the past decade served as a reminder of the isolation of her Ministry-centered life. They'd trade barbs. Hermione would turn on her heel and go back to her office. Draco would go off to Prague, Bulgaria, Ukraine, South Africa--basically any country with a magical community. Except for his debriefings at the Ministry, Malfoy was out in the world. Harry said they had even become friends. Hermione struggled to picture it, but if anyone could stomach befriending the man, it was Harry.

 

“What happened?” Ginny stopped her tirade at the shuttered look on her friend’s face.

 

“Oh? Oh, nothing.” Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Just that Malfoy is in town, and we had a run in.”

 

“What do you mean?” Ginny looked at her friend with concern. “Did he say something?”

 

“Nothing like that. It was nothing. He just-“ Hermione groaned. “It’s just- Does the man have anything nice to say about anyone? I don’t know how you manage him.”

 

“He’s one of the top Aurors, and people don’t really have to get along with him to trust him. Nature of the work. We don’t see a lot of him since he’s constantly on missions.” Ginny drifted off. “Honestly, he might be more of a workaholic than you. Was it bad?”

 

“Nowhere near what it was at school.” Hermione conceded. “We could easily just be school acquaintances and leave it at that, but he insists on needling me every chance he gets.”

 

“You were never acquaintances. And he’s a prick, but a lot of witches don’t seem to mind.” Ginny grinned at Hermione’s undignified snort. “I mean, he has been top of Witch Weekly’s Most Coveted Bachelor List for two years running.”

 

“Well, he doesn’t qualify for Most Charming Smile Award because he’s a sneering git.” Hermione frowned slightly at the cruel words. “That was uncalled for. Merlin, what has gotten into me today.”

 

“Maybe the issue is that nothing has gotten into you lately.”

 

Hermione put her head down on her hands and groaned at Ginny’s lame double entendre. Ginny’s grin broke into a full smile.

 

“Never mind. He is a prick,” Ginny nudged the overworked lump across from her. “But even you have to admit, he is rather fit.”

 

“Since when?”

 

“Merlin, Hermione, since Hogwarts. Do you remember the Quidditch uniforms, at least?”

 

“Well, I guess I was occupied with other matters.” Hermione sniffed.

 

“Like how far Ron could get his tongue down your throat.”

 

“Ginny!”

 

“I swear, I thought the exhibitionism was Lavender, but it’s clearly him.”

 

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose.

 

“Ginny! I don’t need the reminder.”

 

“No one does! You almost ruined my last year at Hogwarts. Harry wouldn’t sneak out of the Tower because he was worried that we’d bump into you two.” Ginny crowed. Ginny had long been of the opinion that Ron and Hermione had needed to stop trying to force themselves together. Now that they had broken up, Ginny had been as smug as anything. “Huge turn-off.”

 

“Enough! I don’t need the reminder.”

 

“Well. If you can’t see how objectively mouthwatering the man is, I can’t help you.”

 

“Is this the pregnancy hormones?”

 

“I am simply a woman with eyes.”

 

They caught the look on each other’s faces and burst into laughter.

 

“What am I going to do without you at the Ministry?” Hermione implored as she wiped at her eyes.

 

Ginny just laughed, licking vinegar and salt off of the tips of her fingers.

 

“With your work hours as they are? You’ll get to see me just as often.”

 

Hermione blushed and then joined in laughing with Ginny. They chatted cheerfully over their lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, drifting from topic to topic.

 

“Do you know yet who they’ve asked to take your position?”

 

Ginny paused with a funny look on her face and crinkled her nose.

 

“I gave Kingsley my recommendations, but I’m not part of the final decision process. That’s up to him and the discretion of the Wizengamot.”

 

“But you know who it will probably be.”

 

“You know that’s confidential information,” Ginny hedged, “and I’m a consummate professional.”

 

“Now you just sound like Percy.” Hermione teased. “If I really wanted to know, I could probably get it out of Harry.”

 

Ginny laughed out loud.

 

“Just wait. They’ll have to announce it at the Ministry Gala. I bet you’ll be surprised.”

 

“I’ll wait with bated breath then.” Hermione wiped her greasy fingers off on a napkin. She glanced at her watch and started. “Oh, Ginny. I have to be getting back to the office. I’ll Floo-call you and Harry later about dinner on Friday? I haven’t seen him since he got in, but I’m going to see if I can find him today.”

 

“Fine. And you also have to come pick out a dress!”

 

Hermione rushed over to hug Ginny quickly on her way out of the pub. “Merlin knows how the youngest Head Auror in Britain’s history ever found so many occasions for dress wear.”

 

The last thing Hermione heard as she waved goodbye and walked out the doors was Ginny’s singsongy voice.

 

“A dress is as much of a weapon as a wand if used correctly!”

 

Hermione shook her head good-naturedly as she Apparated back to the Ministry.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.  
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

_In the bowels of the Ministry…_

 

 

Draco rolled, dodging the stinging hex hurled at him and throwing up a shield charm. He felt the stunner ricochet and spin off towards the ceiling and grimaced.

 

In the space of a second, Draco wordlessly cast a Disillusionment charm on himself and Muffliato charm on the room. He edged towards the figure in the center of the room.

 

A flock of birds shot out of his opponent’s wand and filled the air above them. Draco recalculated his position, eyeing the conjured animals circling in the archways of the high, vaulted ceiling.

 

Their unhurried flight in a circle in the high ceiling above their heads felt ominous. Draco eyed the flock distrustfully.

 

“ _Oppugno vibratius!_ ”

 

Draco crouched in a defensive stance at the unfamiliar spell. His foot scraped soundlessly on the rough, stone floor.

 

As if called by a beacon, the birds turned and began to dive at Draco. He threw his wand arm up in an arch, casting a translucent, Transfiguration shield. The fleet of birds began to drift to the ground as paper airplanes.

 

A pale, green light shot into the air, shredding the paper. A second charm caused the falling bits of paper to float suspended in the air.

 

Draco knew his outline was now visible—his position compromised. He shot off a Rictusempra and heard a corresponding grunt. It bought him a few seconds to find cover.

 

Draco cursed at his exposed position as he shot a series of disarming spells and jinxes over his shoulder. Retreating to a more defendable location, he transfigured a bit of paper into a bookshelf and dove behind it.

 

He felt the heat of spells zipping past him. Draco’s sharp gaze noted potential vantage points and timed the gaps between spells. They were being cast in series. All he had to do was wait for the pause...

 

_“Beep. Beep. Beep. This concludes your practice session. Please visit the training counter to access video playback of your session.”_

 

The training room began to right itself, the Reparo charms returning fallen stones to their places in the walls and vanishing the scorch marks.

 

Draco collapsed against the side his desk, panting heavily.

 

“Thank Merlin for that!” A disembodied voice floated over from the other side of the room.

 

Draco hoisted himself up as the desk vanished. He looked over at the man lying on the floor across the room.

 

“I’m knackered.” Harry Potter declared, staring up at the charmed ceiling of the Auror training room. “Good round.”

 

“How did you circumvent the disillusionment?” Draco winced as he made to move over to sit next to Potter.

 

“Good one, that one.” Harry grinned over at his dueling partner. “Oppugno vibratius. Senses vibration. I can’t cast it wordlessly yet. Bit of a trick to it.”

 

Draco nodded thoughtfully as he remembered the flock of birds. He summoned a couple of cups and passed one over. “Muffliato only neutralizes sound...”

 

Harry pointed his wand to fill his and then Draco’s cup with water. “Sound waves are connected to vibration. The loophole is that Muffliato only affects the part connected to hearing.”

 

“Useful.” Draco’s eyes shifted over to Potter’s. “Not Ministry issue though.”

 

At this Potter blushed. “Er, not quite.”

 

Draco drank his water silently. He felt his heart rate returning to normal. _Avis_ was one of Granger’s signature charms. He’d seen Weaselface on the wrong side of it a few times during their last year at Hogwarts when the two had gone head to head. And then again a few times when their rows had made it to the pages of Witch Weekly.

 

Before the moron had taken off to Romania with his other brother. The dragon tamer. Ten years ago, Draco would have assumed Weasley would be the one sitting here discussing dueling techniques with the Chosen One. The War had fucked up more than just the losing side.

 

Glancing over the man sitting next to him, he wondered again at how his life had changed.

 

“It will be soon enough-“

 

Draco blinked. Potter was rambling again. Most of the time, the man was as out of sorts as his hair.

 

“It will be Ministry issue, that is. That charm.”

 

He looked at Potter again, trying to parse meaning out of Potter’s words.

 

The Ministry never adopted anything new of its own volition. Ginny had had to strong arm the old Guard into accepting new training techniques like video recording training sessions with Muggle equipment.

 

As a former Death Eater, Draco wasn’t likely to be making any headlines as a revolutionary Head Auror. He’d just managed to keep his head down in the five years since the end of the War. It had been a miracle that he’s been let back into Hogwarts for his final year and sit for his NEWTs.

 

Time had passed in a blink, and it seemed like Wizarding Britain had raced back to normalcy.

 

Out of the lot of them, it was only Granger still beating down the walls of the bureaucratic Ministry. The Potters had settled into their Ministry positions. It didn’t bother Draco at all that the cries for structural change had dwindled to a mumble here and there.

 

Potter was still mumbling and flicking his wand between his hands, a nervous habit.

 

“Out with it.” Draco deadpanned.

 

“I’m changing the Auror training program. Modernizing it.” Potter said the words slowly like he was feeling them out for the first time.

 

“How are you going to manage that?”

 

“I’m taking Brocklehurst’s position. He’s retiring. Something about spending time with his grandchild.”

 

“Julia.”

 

“Yeah, that’s her name. Her mom, Mandy, was at Hogwarts. Our year.”

 

“Ravenclaw.”

 

“Know her?”

 

Harry’s green eyes flashed over at Draco pensively. 

 

“We both do, technically.”

 

“Guess so.” Harry shrugged casually. Like everything from his unkempt hair to his disorganized mental state, Potter’s response irked Draco.

 

“What, so you think you’re going to walk into training and just upend thousands of years of tradition? The Unforgivables haven’t changed since 1717, and that was considered a progressive move.”

 

The git had the nerve to smirk at him.

 

“I figured I could ask for forgiveness instead of permission. Kind of my style.”

 

Draco grunted.

 

“I don’t know what I find more irritating: how little planning you engage in or how everything always works out despite it.”

 

“You sound like Hermione.”

 

“Or anyone else who’s met you.”

 

“Don’t pout. You look like someone’s stolen your Hippogriff.” Harry laughed at his own joke, which only darkened Draco’s scowl.

 

“Good talk. Fuck off, Potter.”

 

Draco stood slowly, wincing at the strain in his thighs.

 

“Want to get a pint after work?”

 

“No. I’m fucking busy, Potter.”

 

“Not from what I heard. At least not until next year.”

 

Draco stopped abruptly. He could feel smugness radiating off the Golden Boy. Harry shifted with the ease of an interrogator. Draco felt his hackles rise further.

 

“Heard you came in for a meeting with Kingsley.”

 

“Wonder where you heard that.”

 

“I have sources.”

 

“ _A_ source. Your wife. You two are the fucking worst.”

 

“Ginny.”

 

Harry corrected reflexively with a grin. Malfoy’s deflection was confirmation enough.

 

A ripple of irritation crossed Draco’s face at the Man Who Lived’s easy grin. It took a bit to adjust back to Potter’s way of disarming people. It was easy to forget that behind his crooked smile and disheveled appearance was the wizard who had taken down Voldemort.

 

They sat in silence. The faint buzz of movement outside of the training room, a constant reminder of the general chaos that was the central Auror department.

 

“I felt it was time to come back. For Ginny. For the baby. You know?” He glanced over at Draco, looking for a reaction. “I’m worried about adjusting back to civilian life. Wrote to Ron, but Charlie says he’s out with Hagrid tracking poachers.”

 

 _King of the bleeding hearts_. Draco suppressed an impulse to glare at the side of Potter’s head and his tangle of hair. Back during training, his initial reaction to Harry’s tendency towards post duel bonding had evolved from violent repulsion to mild irritation over the years. He rolled his neck and reminded himself to _empathize_.

 

“Your wife…Ginny.” Draco corrected reluctantly as he saw Harry’s raised eyebrow. “She’ll be happy to have you out of the line of fire.”

 

Potter grimaced, and Draco understood. The Auror program, with its confidentiality and secrecy, had been a haven for battle-scarred fighters that had emerged from the ashes of Wizarding Britain almost a decade ago. For them, public scrutiny was the real battlefield. Fieldwork had been a blessed escape. As the last of their family lines and central figures in the War, the two of them were inescapably famous, or infamous in Draco’s case.

 

Draco’s own acceptance into the program remained controversial despite his role as a double agent near the end of the War. Following some run-ins in Diagon Alley, he had avoided public opinion ever since. Theo had told him that the tide had turned and that Witch Weekly had even begun doing profiles on him, as the Bad Boy of the Second Wizarding War, but it only served to further sour his regard for any kind of press.

 

If it weren’t for consideration to his Mother, Draco would have hopped the first Portkey back to Ukraine. Looking at Potter, Draco thought his former childhood rival might feel a similar way. Potter had notably turned down any public positions since the end of the War, leaving political machinations to others. Others like Draco apparently.

 

Draco felt a hand thump his back. He cursed Potter’s Gryffindor propensity for physical demonstrations of affection.

 

“The prodigal sons return, eh?”

 

“Is that a Muggle reference, Potter?”

 

“Oh, well, yeah” Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “There’s a story about a king and he has two sons. One of them is the prodigal son...he might have been rich too...I’m actually fuzzy on the details…Hermione can tell it better.”

 

Draco raised an eyebrow at the former Boy Who Lived’s rambling.

 

“Anyways, you get the basic idea. Stop being such a prick. We are back, and it’s going to be a big deal.”

 

Draco felt his heart rate pick up at the thought of being on the cover of the Prophet every day for all time. “Nothing has been formalized or announced. I could just grab the next Portkey back to Kiev.”

 

Draco paused at Harry’s smug face before he realized his slip.

 

“My first act is clearly going to be strengthening the spousal confidentiality clause. You and your wife are an absolute menace.”

 

“Your father is rolling his grave, you know.”

 

Draco thought about that decanter of Ogden’s on Theo’s desk. He needed several drinks before he got anywhere near the topic of his father.

 

“How is it that you two were never flagged for conflict of interest?”

 

“Savior of the Wizarding World, remember?”

 

“No one will ever let us forget.”

 

“Right.” Harry shot Draco a disarming grin. “Come over for dinner sometime? Gin would be happy to have you. Loads of people are coming back to town for the gala.”

 

“Family dinners are not my forte. Weasley dinners are out of the question.”

 

“Potter dinner, you mean. And what else would you do? Slug whiskey alone in the dark? Very 6th Year.”

 

At Draco’s sulky silence, Harry laughed again.

 

“You miserable git. Just come over.S’not all Gryffindors anymore. ”

 

Draco felt Harry looking at him. He thought back to his room back in Kiev and the grimy pub downstairs that served as his eating trough for the past two months.

 

“Perhaps.”

 

“Great!” Harry stood, dusting fragment of rock off of his sleeves. “I’ll owl you the details later.”

 

They walked out of the training room towards the main entrance of the Auror department.

 

Not for the first time, Draco ran his eyes over the portraits lining the main hall. As a trainee, he had recognized almost none of the famous Aurors; the Malfoy family and Aurors rarely ran in the same circles, historically speaking.

 

As they came to the obsidian doors signaling the entrance from the Auror Department to the Ministry, Draco spotted the familiar wandering gaze of Mad-Eye peering down from his portrait.

 

Where he might have flinched before, Draco simply nodded at the grumbling wizard. Though he wouldn’t have put it past the battle ax, Draco had been relieved to discover it had been Barty Crouch Jr. who had transfigured him into a ferret his fifth year.

 

Portrait Mad Eye would be hollering come the new year. Him and about a hundred other veteran Aurors. Shacklebolt had to be working an angle, but Draco didn’t have enough of the picture yet.

 

Being out in front of the public was a job for a Weasley. Even better that this last Head Auror was Potter’s Weasley. Ginevra Weasley becoming Head Auror following the war was an easy win for the Ministry. She had effectively led Dumbledore’s Army, alongside Longbottom and Lovegood, during the occupation of Hogwarts and was an extremely powerful witch from the most well-known Light Side wizarding family.

 

To the public, she was Wizarding Britain’s darling and favorite younger sister. Draco and the rest of the Aurors of the War generation knew that the woman’s ginger hair and sunny disposition hid a shrewd, strategic mind and dark edge.

 

Even Potter, himself, despite his years tethered to the Dark Lord, tended to steer clear of his beloved wife while she was locked into her Head Auror work. She has leveled a quarter of the Department of Mysteries with a Reducto for Merlin’s sake.

 

Draco had a long road ahead of him as her replacement.

 

It was a Slytherin’s natural inclination to scheme, and Draco had been running scenarios since the Dark Lord had been reduced to a dust cloud. Only in his most fantastical schemes did he imagine an opportunity of this magnitude dropping into his lap.

 

He needed to talk to someone.

 

The passing scent of honey left him slightly disoriented. Shaking his head, Draco nodded goodbye to Potter and headed towards the nearest Floo.

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

_Harry’s POV_

 

Parting ways with a perpetually grumpy Malfoy at the main hall of the Auror’s department, Harry Potter headed down the long, familiar hallway of offices.

 

He grasped his wand reflexively at the door of his temporary office, which was hanging open on its hinges, but relaxed just as quickly. Only one person would disarm the Ministry wards around an Auror’s office and leave the door ajar for anyone to see.

 

“Hermione!”

 

His best friend sat in a chair, rifling through a pile of notes on her lap. She looked up and shot him a relieved smile.

 

“Oh good! I got the right room then.”

 

Vanishing her notes with a wave of her arm, Hermione launched herself into Harry’s arms.

 

“I heard the news about the training post from, Ginny.” Her ever-wild hair tickled his nose. “Welcome home, Harry Potter.”

 

“It’s good to be home.”

 

He pulled out of the hug to look at her. She looked about as exhausted as he felt.

 

“W.E.A. coming along then? Kingsley told me it’s a sure thing this time.”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes but grinned in that way she had when she aced her NEWTS.

 

“It should have been a sure thing five years ago when I first introduced it.” Hermione recovered and replied primly.

 

Harry fixed them some tea, and they sat and caught up on everything they’d missed in the past month or so. Harry’s last mission had brought him face to face with a coven of Vampires in western Bulgaria.

 

He allowed Hermione to bombard him with questions about their mannerisms, caste system and responses to outsiders.

 

“Do you just want me to give you the memories?” He eventually teased gesturing to his head.

 

Hermione blushed, realizing their chat was turning into an interrogation.

 

“Sorry, Harry.” She laughed self-deprecatingly. “You’d think I don’t have a department of investigators at my disposal.”

 

Hermione allowed him to steer the conversation back to non-work topics.

 

Apparently, Harry had also bumped into Victor Krum, who passed his greetings onto Hermione.

 

Victor had mostly retired from professional Quidditch, though he occasionally dusted off his broom for exhibition matches. According to Harry, he had opened a successful string of Quidditch shops in Eastern Europe.

 

Smelling a rat, Hermione had prodded Harry until he had admitted that he’d actually bumped into Krum on an off the record visit to one of said Quidditch shops during his mission.

 

“But he’s got exclusive access to some of the best Seeker brooms in the world and a massive collection of Snitches.”

 

“I’m sure Ginny would’ve approved,” said Hermione, without a trace of irony.

 

Harry nodded.

 

“She’s going to be begging for me to take her there now that I’m not in the field.”

 

“That’s right! Now you’ll have paid vacation days and regular weekends off like the rest of us Ministry drones.” Hermione had meant it as a joke, but it tasted a bit bitter.

 

Harry must have heard it too because his playful look turned pensive.

 

“Have you thought about what are you going to do after the W.E.A. passes?” Harry leaned back into the unfamiliar chair behind the large, formal Ministry desk. He fidgeted in the cushy seat, picturing himself growing old and rotund like all the retired Aurors and grimacing.

 

Hermione hesitated, blushing. “Actually, Harry, that’s something I haven’t spoken to anyone about, but I,” she took a deep breath and exhaled a stream of words. “I’ve been contemplating the last few years and, well, maybe I could have more power working the the private sector, what I mean is, I love my job here at the Ministry, and Elana is fantastic, and Kingsley has been so supportive, but I’m not quite sure if I want to be a Ministry employee all my life.”

 

Hermione paused to inhale before continuing.

 

“I’ve been so caught up with the W.E.A., and, now that it might be finished, it’s like I’ve come up for air and realized I’ve traveled much further downstream than I intended. Do you know what I mean? Harry?”

 

Harry blinked owlishly, as he struggled to keep up with the flood of words.

 

“Er, yes?”

 

At her exasperated look, Harry tried to reassure her. “I mean, yes, Yes, of course. I know what that’s like.”

 

“Are you happy to be back, Harry? I mean, not just for Ginny and the baby but for you?”

 

At this, Harry’s face broke into a genuine smile.

 

“Yes, Hermione. I am happy to be back for me.” He looked around the sparsely furnished room. “I mean there’ll have to be some adjustments, but training new recruits is something I’m looking forward to. Teaching is actually something I enjoy. You actually helped me realize that back when we started DA.”

 

The early days of Dumbledore’s Army, when Neville couldn’t disarm a pygmy puff and Ginny was still using the Bat Bogey Hex as her go-to jinx. Harry shook himself out of his memories and smiled at his friend.

 

“Ginny and I are having people over for dinner this Friday. I think Luna is going to be there since she’s coming back for the Ball. Charlie might stop in too. The dragon refuge is closing down for the winter.”

 

“What about Ron?” Hermione felt her heart sink a bit at the look in Harry’s eyes. She still couldn’t stand the mixture of pity and apprehension that came whenever she brought up the third member of their little trio. For Merlin’s sake, she wasn’t wasting away waiting for the man’s return. They had been broken up for almost a year.

 

“I dunno, Hermione. Last I heard, he’s on assignment doing some kind of, er, dragon thing.”

 

Her skin prickling in irritation, Hermione let the sarcasm drip into her voice. “ _Dragon_. _Thing_.”

 

Harry shrugged. “Those were his words exactly.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Hermione hesitated over her next words. In the past, when she had tried to convince Harry that she actually _didn’t_ care what Ron was doing in Romania, she had always been met with the kind of forced positivity reserved for the deluded or hysterical.

 

It was a conversation she hadn’t yet quite figured out how to manage with her best friend. Ginny hadn’t made much progress in convincing him either. Since her dating life had floundered in the past months, she had no hard evidence that she had, indeed, moved on with her life.

 

She glanced up at said friend, who was as still a Petrificus Totalus, undoubtedly waiting for her to start another rant about how much she didn’t care about Ronald Weasley running off to Romania and leaving her to deal with the remains of their ill-advised and very public relationship.

 

Instead, she sighed, pushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled at him.

 

“I’d love to come to dinner, Harry.”

 

He visibly relaxed, and she knew she had made the better choice.

 

 

 

~~*~~

 

 

 

_That evening_

_Malfoy Manor, Receiving Room_

 

 

Draco landed abruptly in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor. The room was lit, meaning that company was expected. With a grumble, Draco Scourgified his robes before stepping onto the spotless floor rug. He took in the renovations with a grimace, noting the aura of Dark Magic still hanging in the air. Cold seeped into his bones.

 

With a familiar pop, a tiny House Elf appeared at his feet.

 

“Welcome home, Master Draco!”

 

“Thank you, Dipsy.” Malfoy nodded at his personal elf, currently sporting a tiny, grey sheath. “I see that Mother knows I’ve arrived.”

 

“Yes,” Dipsy was dancing from toe to toe, failing, once again, to maintain the decorum expected of a Malfoy house elf. “We is so happy Master Malfoy has returned. Lady Malfoy is having Dipsy make a full dinner!”

 

Draco reigned in a heavy sigh. _For fuck’s sake._

 

“I suppose that’s where I will head then.” He made to walk towards the East Wing.

 

“Oh! Lady Malfoy is telling Dipsy to take Master Draco as soon as he comes.”

 

Dipsy grabbed Draco’s finger with her hand and Apparated them to the hall outside of the smaller dining room.

 

“Thank you, Dipsy.” Draco bit out, reeling slightly from the sudden side-along. The house elf squeaked in delight before popping away, presumably to the kitchens.

 

Not ready to face his mother after months of admittedly spotty correspondence, Draco took a moment to get himself under control before entering the room. 

 

“I don’t want to rush you, Draco dear, but the soup is cooling.”

 

Draco tilted his back and stifled a groan. No point in delaying the inevitable. He blew out a breath and entered the dining hall.

 

Narcissa Malfoy stood from where she sat at the head of the rosewood table, another new addition to the household. Draco thought she looked beautiful, if not a bit melancholy. Even in her solitude, the woman cut a graceful figure as she beamed at her only son.

 

“Draco, my darling.”

 

He quickly walked over and, somewhat stiltedly, accepted to her embrace. Physical displays of affection, once forbidden to Draco, had been slowly reintroduced by his mother following the war. She leaned back to look at his face, and, to Draco’s absolute horror, he saw the beginnings of tears in her cool, blue eyes.

 

“Mother…”

 

“No. No.” She smiled at his obvious discomfort. “I reserve the right to fuss.”

 

Narcissa Malfoy allowed her son to pull out her chair and help her sit. She touched his cheek affectionately and watched him try not to roll his eyes. She shook her head, as he pouted on his way to his place.

 

A bowl of butternut squash greeted him with the traditional setting. Draco’s mouth watered as the aroma wafted up to his nose.

 

“I forwent the courses, I hope you don’t mind.” She said airily, as the dishes began appearing before them.

 

Draco visibly relaxed as he saw the simple fare laid out before them. Draco reached out and took a piece of crusty bread to eat with his simple soup.

 

“Thank you, Mother.”

 

“I can’t imagine what you have been sustaining yourself on for the past few months.”

 

Draco nodded stiffly.

 

As they ate quietly, Draco fought his rising irritation. Three steps into his family home and he was right there in his teenage self’s shoes again. He could feel the portraits on the walls peering at him from their decrepit frames. The last, fallen, blood traitor heir of the Malfoy line.

 

Not for the first time, Draco wondered how his mother could stand it. After all, her actions, more than any of his, had weighted the War in the Light side’s favor.

 

“As much as I delight in your rare visits home, darling, is there a particular reason for this one?”

 

Draco was dragged from his increasingly morbid thoughts and looked up.

 

“Ah, yes.” Draco hadn’t quite figured out how to break this news to his mother.

 

He hadn’t even been able to pin down how she would be likely to respond. As the Wizarding world was now well aware, women of the House of Black were far from predictable.

 

“This wouldn’t be about your meeting with the Minister a few weeks ago?”

 

His mother peered knowingly at his from over her wine glass.

 

“How-“

 

“Please, darling. As if I wouldn’t maintain our family’s contacts after all we’ve been through.”

 

Draco stared at her.

 

“I assure you, the Minister’s office is properly secured. I was not privy to the content of your discussion.”

 

Narcissa Malfoy daintily placed a bite of fish into her mouth, looking a bit like the terrifying, Pureblood socialite she had once been. Draco was staring at her, though, fortunately, with his mouth closed.

 

“Have you space for a bit of salmon, Draco? Dipsy has really outdone herself.”

 

“I’m to be the new Head Auror.”

 

His mother’s hands stilled with the fine silver implements still grasped in her fingers. She took a deep, silent breath.

 

“Was it a request or an order?”

 

“An offer. A chance to reshape the family name and redeem myself.”

 

“In the eyes of the public.” Her tone was skeptical, and Draco swallowed an urge to justify himself. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago he was panicking in Theo’s office about this very issue?

 

“Is this something you need to do?” Her clear, blue eyes were crinkled in open concern, and Draco could just make out the lines on her face. They were the only evidence that time had passed at all in Malfoy Manor. That and the new rug.

 

“Yes.” Draco felt himself answer. He dwelled on his words and found them to be true. “Wizarding Britain is healing. It is going to be different, mother.”

 

“And if it isn’t?” For the first time that night, Draco saw nervousness in his mother’s pale cheek and trembling hands.

 

“If it is,” He lowered his voice to a gentle murmur. “I want you to come with me.”

 

They had often argued, spectacularly on Draco’s side, in the years after the War. He had wanted to raze the Manor and leave Wiltshire. They certainly had enough properties in more attractive locales.

 

She had not agreed.

 

Contrary to the world’s view of her relationship with her late husband, Narcissa and Lucius had shared a deep bond. As his dedication to the Dark Lord had deepened and festered, Narcissa had followed him. She had allowed the Dark Lord into their home to keep Lucius close. She had clung to the deteriorating pieces of her husband as he stripped the pieces of his soul for another man. Watching the deterioration of parent’s relationship was Draco’s first, real lesson on the insidious nature of hope.

 

The only person she had held higher than Lucius was Draco.

 

And when she had found Lucius’ broken body in the ruins of Hogwarts, she had begged him for the impossible—to stay alive for her.

 

Now the last two of the House of Malfoy sat in a house steeped in darkness because Narcissa, in her grief and stubbornness, refused to leave.

 

Draco saw the pain in his mother’s eyes and felt his hatred for his father rise to meet it. This was the heart of their conflict.

 

This woman who had lied to the greatest Dark Wizard was not, as the world thought, powerful in her bravery. She had been powerful in her desperation.

 

It was the same desperation that now fastened her so tightly to the Manor.

 

“I cannot.”

 

“I know.”

 

She smiled faintly, the light not reflecting in her eyes. He ran his hands thru his hair and sighed. Narcissa righted herself in the silence and then continued her conversation. It was an admirable recovery, befitting a well-bred, Pureblood woman.

 

“I will be happy to have you closer to home at least, my darling. I’m not mistaken to assume you won’t be staying in Wiltshire?”

 

“No, you are not.”

 

“Perhaps the penthouse in Belgravia would be better suited?”

 

“Perhaps...” Draco honestly couldn’t remember the state of the place or the last time he had been there. Had it been used by Death Eaters during the War?

 

“It has a lovely view of Hyde Park, and Dipsy has been keeping it maintained despite its _disuse_.” She lingered on the last word meaningfully, and Draco felt himself breathe out in relief.

 

“It would save me the trouble of looking at flats myself.”

 

“And ensure privacy.” His mother followed easily.

 

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

 

“I assume they will be announcing your promotion before the New Year.”

 

He nodded, running his hand through his hair. His mother straightened herself and nodded to his attire.

 

“You’ll need dress robes. I’ll call on Monsieur Fleuriste in the morning.”

 

Draco begrudgingly nodded his assent. Theo would be thrilled, at least.

 

“And you do need to have someone take care of that.” Narcissa gestured to his hair.“Theodore warned me, but he does tend to understate.”

 

Draco groaned. _On second thought, fuck Theo._

 

“Of course, Mother.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.
> 
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

_Thursday_

_Diagon Alley, Fleuriste Boutique_

 

 

Draco growled as he tugged at the stiff collar digging into his neck.

 

Monsieur Fleuriste, acclaimed designer, huffed as he continued to alter the fabric draped around the young Malfoy heir. The Malfoys, of course, had been Fleuriste’s patrons since his early days. The tailor had been going grey when Draco was a child. Now he was positively ancient.

 

“Minerva’s sagging tit.” Draco cursed as the centenarian manhandled him.

 

“Spare me the visual.” Theo drawled next to him, patiently waiting for the floating measuring tape to run from his wrist to shoulder. “I do see Headmistress McGonagall on a fairly regular basis.”

 

“What on earth for?”

 

“Work.” At Draco’s look of disbelief, Theo sighed. “After the war, Hogwarts was a ruin. The structural integrity damaged beyond repair. They basically had to strip it down to the foundations. It was a massive undertaking.”

 

“Yes, I remember.” Draco cut Theo off pointedly. He hadn’t joined in the restoration project, preferring to stay as far away from the school as possible. It was one of the countless acts of cowardice. Draco tilted his neck to the side to relieve the building tension.

 

“Les lignes! Seigneur Malfoy!”

 

Draco locked his jaw against a stream of curses.Theo apologized in French to the incensed Monsieur Fleuriste who patted a silk handkerchief to his wrinkled forehead in distress.

 

“As I was saying,” Theo continued. “The process exposed a number of sealed chambers and passages. I’ve been consulting with the Headmistress on how to identify and contain previously unrecorded artifacts.”

 

“Sounds like your fetish come to life.”

 

Theo snorted in response.

 

Draco reached up to tug at his shoulder only to have his hand slapped away.

 

“I don’t recall this being as unbearable when we were children,” Draco grumbled, fidgeting as the greying wizard fussed over a thread. He was being followed by an intimidating, floating pin cushion.

 

“As I recall, it didn’t take much for you to put yourself on a pedestal. It was more likely that we had to pull you off one before you made an ass of yourself.” Theo picked a piece of lint off of his cuff and inspected it. He smirked as his fair-haired friend’s scowl deepened even further at the memory of what a prick he had been as a teenager.

 

“Fuck you, Theo.”

 

Monsieur Fleuriste gasped. “Un peu de retenue, s'il vous plaît!”

 

Draco cast a skeptical look around the empty shop. The wizard was fucking mad. Off his broom.

 

“Never mind work,” Theo interjected before Draco managed to infuriate the world-class designer any further. “Have you decided who will accompany you to the ball?”

 

“You.” Draco shot back, hating this line of questioning even more.

 

“Flattered,” Theo deadpanned. “And we make a fetching pair.”

 

“I don’t have time or care to have time...”

 

“One might argue that returning to Wizarding society requires some consideration for political strategy.”

 

Draco felt his irritation flare. The Malfoys had always been political, and it would be expected that he take up that mantle.

 

It was a sensible suggestion. Very Theo.

 

He just didn’t fucking care.

 

“What about your mother?”

 

Draco seethed at the idea of his mother in that pit of snakes. Even if she was a snake herself.

 

“You mean you haven’t already asked for the honor? I’m sure she’d consider it, seeing as how you’ve become so close.”

 

The words came out harsher than he had intended. Theo simply turned to the mirror to stare at his own reflection. Draco took a heavy breath and inclined his head apologetically. 

 

“Mother, as you have undoubtedly deduced, doesn’t leave the Manor these days.”

 

“The youngest Miss Greengrass is still unattached, I hear.”

 

“Astoria.” Draco recalled the slender girl from Hogwarts, black hair and striking blue eyes. She had been a girl the last time he had seen her.

 

“Yes, as I recall, she was quite taken with you at Hogwarts. The Greengrasses might be amenable to a match, considering your reformed image.”

 

Draco was surprised to hear a hint of bitterness tinging his friend’s voice and turned his head.

 

Monsieur Fleuriste huffed and swished his wand. Draco felt his head jerk forwards and heard Theo’s muffled laugh.

 

“Why so fixated on my shit dating life? You are just as single as I am.” Draco gritted his teeth.

 

“No one, least of all me, is looking to revive my family’s name. Too much of a challenge.” Theo ground his teeth together and glared at his reflection in the full-length mirror.

 

Theo’s mother, too young to be married to a middle-aged Nott Sr., had died in labor with her second child. The infant hadn’t survived. Theo had been eight. From then until Hogwarts, he had suffered under the hand of his abusive, hateful father, alone in a decaying mansion in the countryside.

 

Considering the open distaste with which Nott Sr. regarded his son, it was still a mystery why he hadn’t sacrificed the boy to the Dark Lord’s service as so many others had, Draco’s father included. The thought that his father had not even considered him fit enough to be a Death Eater had damaged Theo’s self-image so totally that he and Draco had not been able to maintain a friendship through the War. It was only afterward that they had been able to reconnect, though they never fully acknowledged the envy and pity they had felt for the other.

 

Theo had escaped becoming a Death Eater, but he had not escaped condemnation. 

 

After Voldemort had been defeated, Draco had joined the Aurors, and Theo had found the quietest, most isolated part of the Ministry open to him. He had buried himself under historical artifacts and books.

 

Theo was a good man and not as bad looking as some, in Draco’s opinion. It was likely, though, that the old families would actively discourage a potential acquaintance between their daughters and the last living Nott.

 

Unlike Draco, Theo was deserving and much more suited to a relationship. He just doubted the man knew anything about courtship outside of the Sacred Twenty Eight.

 

“Look sharp,” Theo muttered suddenly.

 

The door of the boutique opened, and the two men heard a bell ring somewhere above them.

 

A plump, middle-aged woman Draco had never seen before appeared out of a doorway near the front desk of the boutique. She rushed to the door to usher in an extremely pregnant Ginny Potter.

 

“Thank you, Marie.” The young Mrs. Potter scanned the shop, and her eyes lit with that unfortunate Weasley spark of mischief when she spotted Draco.

 

“But of course.” The rosy-cheeked woman demurred in highly accented English. “If you would permit, I will have your order ready in a moment. Monsieur Fleuriste is with clients at the moment, but he will be finished shortly.”

 

“Please don’t rush. It will allow me time to catch up with this one over here.” Ginny gestured over to Draco, and he cursed colorfully under his breath.

 

“Seigneur Malfoy!” Fleuriste’s reaction to Malfoy’s latest slip blossomed into full, scandalized horror once he saw that they had another client. He exploded into heavily accented English. “Madame Potter! Please excuse Seigneur Malfoy! I apologize for his indelicacy!”

 

“Please don’t mind him, Étienne.” Ginny waved a dismissive hand in Draco’s direction. “I’m used to it.”

 

“But of course, Lady Potter. You are too forgiving, but it is to be expected of a lady of your magnanimité.” Draco’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline. “If you would excuse me, I would like to check on your designs for the last time, madame.”

 

Monsieur Fleuriste's face had split into a beatific smile at the woman. This was a man who had refused to speak English for as long as Draco had known him--now as starry-eyed as a first year seeing the lights of Hogwarts castle. 

 

“Monsieurs. Veuillez patienter quelques instantes.”

 

The old Wizard toddled towards the door that would take him to his workroom.

 

“Étienne?” He spat accusingly at the woman smiling smugly at him.

 

The woman winked. Draco opened his mouth, but she breezed past him.

 

“Mr. Nott!”

 

Theodore bowed his head in greeting, and Draco immediately rolled his eyes at the stiff formality.

 

“Mrs. Potter. Allow me to belatedly congratulate you on your pregnancy.”

 

Ginny took it in stride.

 

“Call me Ginny, please. It’s been a long time! Are you getting your fittings for the gala?”

 

“Obviously.” Draco drawled. They both ignored him.

 

“Yes. I’m afraid it’s been some time since I last attended a Ministry event.” Theo smiled slightly.

 

“Really? I thought you were working in the Archives at the moment?”

 

“Yes, actually.” Theo sounded mildly surprised that Ginny Potter had kept tabs on him.

 

“Is it alright if I call you, Theodore?” Ginny asked earnestly. “Any friend of Draco’s is a friend of mine!”

 

“Theo.” The man actually stuttered. He threw a questioning look at Draco, who was glaring daggers at the ginger.

 

“Theo, then.” Ginny’s eyes twinkled kindly at the brown-haired man before her. Draco hated when she did that. It reminded him uncomfortably of their former Headmaster, the one he’d almost assassinated.

 

“It’s a pity it’s taken so long for us to meet, but I understand. It’s so rare that I see Draco out in the public.”

 

“I understand that you two have become quite close. Quite the accomplishment for you though I’m not sure congratulations are in order.” Theo replied wryly.

 

“Potter and I are work colleagues.” Draco felt an incredibly immature urge to explain this association away for his own ego.

 

The glint in the woman’s eyes instantaneously lit into flames that she turned on Draco. Theo took a step back. Draco winced preemptively.

 

“I mean...Ginny.”

 

“I thought so.” She glared at him, probably gauging what hexes she could get away with in public. “I fully expect to see you at Grimmauld tomorrow. Harry already confirmed that you are coming, and I’ve started cooking. I expect you to arrive promptly and with a bottle of wine in hand.”

 

Draco had enough conscience to feel admonished, even with Theo smirking at him.

 

Ginny immediately turned back to Theo, replacing her glare with a disarming smile.

 

“We have dinner at ours quite regularly,Draco can bring you along! Are you free tomorrow?”

 

“Regrettably no.”

 

“Oh, well. Next time, then. I bet you and Hermione would have loads to talk about! You remember Hermione. She’s such a history buff!”

 

Draco scoffed audibly, remembering how often Granger with her head stuck in Hogwarts, A History, then winced as Theo kicked him.

 

“Perhaps.” Theo hedged. “I might not be able to keep up with the brightest mind to ever attend Hogwarts.”

 

Draco’s lip curled in disgust, as Ginny beamed at the other man in front of her. Draco didn’t like the gleam in her eyes. It was the same way she had looked at him when he turned double agent during the War.

 

“I’m sure you’d manage just fine.” Her tone was syrupy-sweet.

 

Fucking, meddling Gryffindors.

 

“Are we done with these niceties yet?” Draco bit out. “Don’t you have a ball gown to squeeze into? Probably the shade of ‘a fresh, pickled toad.’”

 

“Stop being a brat, Draco, or I’ll transfigure your bits.”

 

Theo’s mouth actually dropped open a bit before he broke out in a great laugh. Draco’s mouth snapped shut.

 

“Lady Potter! Voila!” Fleuriste had returned with a line of dresses floating gracefully behind him.

 

“Merlin. Bit much?”

 

“Your bits. Bat Bogey.”

 

There were six dresses, varying wildly in style. The first one was stunning. It looked like it had been spun from gold sugar and dusted with diamonds.

 

The next was siren red, made of satin that poured down to the floor in pleats. It was followed by rather severe-looking black, velvet gown with an asymmetrical neckline and long sleeves.

 

Another looked like it had been cut open through the middle. It was extremely yellow. Very modern.

 

Draco’s eyes lingered on a deep green gown with a cinched waist. Merlin. 

 

There was a rather simple, white gown and then an exquisite, embroidered floral creation with a full skirt.

 

“They are beautiful, Étienne! You have outdone yourself, once again.”

 

Draco had to agree though he noticed only the first dress actually looked like it could fit over the woman’s swollen belly. Monsieur Fleuriste had probably used occlusion charms to obscure the midsection. Why she would bother was anyone’s guess. Everyone knew that she was about to pop.

 

“The pleasure is mine. It was an absolute delight to be given so much freedom to experiment.”

 

Fleuriste was flushing with pleasure under the praise. He also sent a smug look over to the men, who had been mildly transfixed by the procession. “It is a feast for the eyes, non?”

  
But why would she need six?

 

It was a move reserved, in his mind, for the nouveau riche. Wizards too focused on demonstrating wealth for social or political advantage.

 

From what he knew of the Potters, they were far too attached to their morals to consider bending to the inconstant whims of elite Wizarding society. At the same time, Mrs. Weasley was born a Prewett, so Ginny may have picked up something there.

 

Marie waved her wand and the gowns began to fold themselves neatly for wrapping.

 

Maybe they were motivational? Some of the female Aurors bought post-maternity clothes. It had been in Witch Weekly, hadn’t it? Not that he read that drippy magazine. Of course not.

 

Except that one in the waiting room of the Minister’s office.

 

Draco huffed at that line of thinking.

 

“I will be with you in a moment, Lord Malfoy.” Mild irritation flitted across Fleuriste’s face before he turned back to Ginny. “The best things come to those who wait.”

 

Draco smothered the second huff. He felt a slight burning on his face at being scolded like a child.

 

“Don’t let me keep you, Etienne! I’ll owl you if I have any problems, is that alright?” Ginny beamed at the old wizard.

 

“But of course, my lady!”

 

“Theo, it was lovely to see you. Please do come over sometime. Draco! Make sure you save space for tomorrow!”

 

And with another wink and a flashy grin, Ginny Potter disappeared into the bustle of Diagon Alley.

 

Monsieur Fleuriste sighed. “Si j'étais plus jeune…Eh Bien.”

 

He turned to the two men, who were still standing awkwardly with half-altered robes.

 

“Alors. Que vais-je faire de vous.” 

 

 

~~~

 

 

Draco joined Theo on a stop at Flourish and Blotts after their alterations had finished.

 

It had been a while since he browsed a bookshop that had more inventory than rodents. He walked through the aisles aimlessly while Theo parked himself in the Runes section.

 

Draco felt oddly nostalgic watching the dust motes float down from the upper stacks and hearing the ring of the bell as customers came in and out. He had never had much need for book shopping considering the Malfoy’s extensive library, but it was one of few places his parents had taken him where his classmates could be found. Knockturn Alley wasn’t exactly a Hogwarts stomping ground.

 

He stopped a ways away from a group of said school’s students on holiday huddled over a magazine. They chatted animatedly, gasping over the moving photographs.

 

A brown haired girl with freckles nudged the black-haired boy next to her and leaned over to whisper something to him. They made eye contact and then began laughing.

 

“Have you been back since graduation?”

 

A soft voice interrupted his thoughts. He turned slightly to see Granger standing next to him, a stack of books wrapped in her arms. Her eyes were fixed on the same group of children.

 

Unlike the severe bun she favored at the Ministry and the no-nonsense business witch outfits, the woman had let her hair out and was wearing simple robes today. A late afternoon sunbeam was falling on her from behind and her hair—well, it was fucking everywhere, but it looked soft. Hermione Granger looked as if she had stepped off the Hogwarts Express yesterday, and Draco took a strange comfort from the thought that some things hadn’t changed. Even though everything had changed since Hogwarts.

 

Whether it was the nostalgia or the contented hum of the bookstore or how relaxed Granger looked, Draco didn’t feel a biting comment rise to his lips. 

 

Some of these students were probably in the first class to start at Hogwarts after the War. It had only been 5 years, yet the world was moving on. Realizing she was still waiting for a response, he simply shook his head. Why would he go back there? 

 

“It’s rather changed since we attended.”

 

He remained silent, and—of course—she took that as an invitation to continue.

 

“The bracelets started a few years ago.” She nodded towards the group, and Draco was surprised to see each of the students was wearing a bracelet made of thin, colored cords. “They are quite popular. One color for their House and one color for the house they could have joined, or wanted to.”

 

Draco was amazed to see almost every combination of red, yellow, blue and green. Even red and green together.

 

“Did you ever think you might not be in Slytherin?”

 

It was so like her to ask that kind of question without thinking twice. A Gryffindor’s recklessness and a Ravenclaw’s thirst for knowledge. Malfoy had only ever considered Slytherin. A Malfoy not in Slytherin was unthinkable, unwonderable.

 

“Ravenclaw, I think,” Hermione spoke and turned to look at the white-blond haired man standing next to her.

 

“We all knew that, Granger. It’s still a mystery why the Hat ever put you in Gryffindor to begin with. I’m sure you engaged the tatty old thing in lengthy enough negotiations.”

 

“I actually meant you.” She sniffed with a hint of her former swottiness.

 

Draco turned to look down at her. She was biting her lip as she looked at the circle of Hogwarts students. It was something she often did when lost in her thoughts. He was surprised he knew that.

 

“You read people like I read books.” She continued. “And you had excellent marks.”

 

She looked over at him as if to confirm that she was right. Like they were in class and she had said something particularly clever.

 

In that context, Draco supposed she was right. He couldn’t picture it though.

 

No Slytherin ever wanted to be in another House.

 

Hermione’s eyes moved over to him and he felt the weight of her stare. He shifted and fixed his eyes ahead, unwilling to break the unspoken peace. She cocked her head to the side slightly and paused before shifting her books in her arms. She let out a soft grunt as the books shifted unpredictably and began to slip from her grasp.

 

Before he knew what he was doing, Draco had reached out and taken the whole pile from Granger. He hesitated jerkily as he realized what he was doing mid-action.

 

They both stilled as they became aware of how close they were to one another.

 

“Th-thank you.” She said. Aside from the faint blush spreading across her cheeks and the widening of her eyes, she didn’t acknowledge Draco’s extreme departure from normal behavior. He didn’t think he could be more grateful for her uncharacteristic silence. 

 

Not trusting himself, Draco simply nodded and moved towards the cashier. They passed the group of Hogwarts students, who stared at the two war heroes before breaking out into a fit of hushed exclamations and giggles.

 

He approached the oak counter and set down the predictably large stack of books. Then, ignoring everything around him, he turned on his heel and walked straight out of the bookstore.

 

He was halfway down Diagon Alley before he remembered Theo.

 

Cursing, he turned around and headed back to the bookshop.

 

As he approached Flourish and Blotts for the second time that day, he spotted the man just exiting.

 

Blowing out a relieved breath, he strode up to his sandy-brown haired friend. Draco’s mouth opened, but Theo threw up a hand.

 

“Don’t want to know. At least you remembered me this time, you arsehole.”

 

Draco’s mouth snapped shut.

 

“Anything else you need while we’re here?”

 

Draco shook his head, and they headed to the nearest Apparition point.

 

If he scanned the crowd and felt disappointed at the indistinguishable sea of wizard hats and well-managed hairdos, it was simply because he found the uniformity dull.

 

And of course he was scanning the crowd. He was a fucking Auror.

 

 

~~~

 

 

French Translations

 

Les lignes! Seigneur Malfoy! = The lines! Lord Malfoy!

Un peu de retenue, s'il vous plaît! = Please, restrain yourself!

Monsieurs. Veuillez patienter quelques instantes = Gentlemen, please wait a moment.

Si j'étais plus jeune. Eh bien. = If I were a younger man…Oh well.

Alors. Que vais-je faire de vous.= Well then, what shall I do with you.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.  
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

Friday Evening  
12 Grimmauld Place, Claremont Square, Islington  
Hermione’s POV

 

“Hermione!” A chorus of voices greeted her arrival at Grimmauld that Friday.

Hermione just had time to dust herself off before she was enveloped into a pair of large, warm arms.

“Long time no see, bookworm.” A deep, masculine voice greeted her.

“Charlie!” She laughed into his shoulder as he picked her up and swung her around.

“Oi! Watch it, Charlie!” Ginny chided her older brother as she fussed around in the kitchen. Harry, George and Luna were already seated around the long dining room table.

The bulky, slightly charred redhead chuckled heartily as he set her down.

“You look beautiful.” He murmured into her ear.

Hermione blushed at the proximity and compliment. Charlie always smelled of smoke and spice, and she inhaled deeply before stepping back.

“How are things?” She heard the breathlessness in her voice and winced.

The Weasley boys had always felt like older brothers to Hermione, except Charlie. Hermione had spent his rare visits to the Burrow tongue tied to Ron’s chagrin and Ginny’s everlasting delight.

Charlie with his sun-kissed face, roguish looks and calloused hands had always looked like a character from the cover of one of Lavender’s romance novels. As a schoolgirl, Hermione had harbored a crush, which now, as his brother’s ex, was an unfortunate reminder of simpler times.

“In Romania?” He grinned.

She nodded, grateful for the assist.

“It’s been a rough winter, but the breeding program is coming along. We’re taking a page out of your book actually and referencing successful, naturalistic Muggle species recovery programs. I suppose Ron’s not been writing lengths about it, has he?”

Hermione shook her head, a tendril of her impossible hair falling into her face. Ron’s correspondence had dwindled from pathetic to non-existent over the past year. She’d honestly barely noticed though she knew it had saddened Molly who had just managed to stop asking about it.

“I see.” Charlie looked troubled, and Hermione fought the familiar urge to gloss over the end of their relationship.

“Is he alright?”

Charlie’s face cleared, and he adopted his usual, relaxed grin.

“Useless around spiders, but, otherwise, he’s settled in alright.”

“Well…good.” They lapsed into silence, and Hermione fought the urge to fidget with her hands. Delicious smells drifted through the kitchen, and Hermione’s stomach announced its need for food loudly. The growl triggered a flush of mortification to rush up Hermione’s face.

Charlie chuckled and backed up to clear a path to the rest of the kitchen. Hermione darted past him, muttering under her breath. The house had been renovated after the war, but Harry and Ginny had decided against magically expanding the floorspace. They did move the Floo to the dining room. Harry said it was to keep the cozy feel of it, though Ginny claimed it was just easier to manage. It also, conveniently, removed any need to be near Aunt Walburga.

Hermione approached the long wooden dining table where Charlie, George, Luna, Harry and Ginny were crowded, already chatting back and forth.

She felt an ache at the smallness of their group. Without Fred, George had never really learned to fill a room’s space on his own. Arthur and Molly tended to stay home following the War, though they still hosted Christmas dinner and Sunday brunches. And Ron...well she missed him terribly, though not in the way most of his family wished her too.

Still, she could see healing in the faces of those around the table. In George’s eyes that has regained a bit of their twinkle. In the smile lines that had begun to develop around Harry’s eyes.

“Oh good!” Ginny exclaimed, eyeing Hermione’s outfit, a pre-approved ankle length, tea dress. “Not in work clothes for once.”

“I was told that my work clothes were ‘inappropriate’.” Hermione huffed, looking around and seeing that the only one out of their typical attire was Luna, who didn’t know the meaning of the word.

Ginny had actually threatened her with a Howler if she turned up in what Ginny called her “old Nan trousers”. Hermione had had to dig deep in her closet to find something that might appease her extremely pregnant friend.

“We are trying something new.” Ginny smiled, clapping her hands together in delight. “Doesn’t Hermione look lovely?”

“Ron doesn’t know what he’s missing!“ George raised his pint of Butterbeer in greeting. “Looking good, Hermione!”

Hermione smacked George lightly on the shoulder before hugging him too. Luna simply smiled airily as she nodded over at Hermione in greeting. She was wearing an odd set of tiny onion earrings and a necklace made of what looked like wiggling baby Mandrake roots holding hands.

“Since when do Weasley dinners have a dress code? Not that I’m complaining.” Charlie winked at Hermione across the table. He didn’t own any robes that hadn’t been scorched by a dragon.

“I am.” Harry complained, a bit harassed looking and still in his Auror robes. He was sat at the long table with a beer in hand.

“And you still haven’t changed!” Ginny rounded on her husband with her hands at her hips, which only make her sizable midsection more intimidating.

“I just got in.” Harry grinned lopsidedly at his wife.

“Merlin, Ginny,” Charlie mumbled over his Butterbeer.

“You look like Mum.” George crowed.

“I do not!” Ginny flushed red in embarrassment. Her hands dropped from her waist.

Harry went diffuse the situation with his lopsided grin and messy hair.

“Your brothers are idiots.” George actually preened. “You look gorgeous, and I will go change in a moment.” The Boy Who Lived stood and hugged his wife from behind.

“Must have been quite a day if you can’t even Scourgify your robes for company.” Hermione teased her best friend while taking an empty wine glass from Charlie. Ginny nodded vigorously in agreement.

“I mean, it’s just you lot.” Harry shot back good-naturedly, as he pulled his wand out and waved it over his dusty Auror robes. The Scourgify did a halfway decent job of removing the Floo dust, but the robes had clearly seen better days.

The table was stocked well with a variety of beers with colorful labels—Harry’s current obsession.

Hermione glanced around the table, before looking quizzically at her friends.

“Where’s the wine?”

The fire roared green and a very blonde, mildly disheveled Draco Malfoy stepped out, bottle of wine in hand. He immediately cast a Scourgify to remove the dust on his white Oxford and black slacks and ran his hand through his hair. Looking up, he froze at the unexpected, now-rapt audience of mostly Gryffindors.

Her heart skipped a beat.

He cleared his throat. Malfoy looked almost as awkward as he had been while carrying her books.

She really didn’t need to be thinking about that again.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Hermione moved herself farther back into the room.

She jumped slightly at the brush of Harry moving past to greet his newest guest. Her jaw almost dropped open at the familiar greeting between the two men.

Looking around in disbelief, Hermione was somewhat comforted to see that she wasn’t the only one shocked by the late addition to the dinner. George was stony-faced. Charlie looked calm in a way he probably only reserved for XXXX classified creatures. Luna was scolding one of her Mandrakes that had begun to fuss.

Ginny was smiling.

She beamed at the her husband and the new addition to her party before turning away to check the oven.

The man looked like he might throw himself back into the flames, without Floo powder.

George stood suddenly.

“Malfoy.“

Hermione swallowed against the anxiety rising in her throat. The two men hadn’t crossed paths many times since the War. There wasn’t much cause to, what, with one being a Joke shop mogul and the other, a field Auror.

Malfoy took an stiff step forward. He stood very still, tensed in anticipation, but his hand remained relaxed and away from his holster.

Ginny had stopped bustling around in the kitchen and was now wiping her hands on a kitchen towel, watching the proceedings.

George eyed the younger man for a long moment before extended a hand out. Malfoy stared at the man only for a moment before taking it.

“I see you got the message about the dress code. Ginny does like to keep up appearances since she’s married to the Savior of the Wizarding World.”

“I will hex you!” Ginny shouted.

“I can’t hear you, my beloved, baby sister!” At this, George gestured to the scarred side of his head with a wink, and Hermione could see Malfoy fight a grimace. “One of the upsides of horrible disfigurement.“

Charlie stood up and offered his hand to Malfoy next, giving the slighter man an escape from what could have turned into a long-winded monologue on ear-related puns.

“Charlie.” He introduced himself and gave Malfoy a firm shake. “Ginny told us you brought in Dolohov. Mum’s really grateful for it.”

Malfoy nodded once.

“He is a nasty dueler. Glad to see you bested him.” Charlie continued before George elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Hermione placed a palm against her ribcage where her phantom ache had throbbed at Dolohov’s mention.

She felt a bit faint, probably from not having eaten since breakfast.

She didn’t need wine. She needed water.

“Hermione.”

“Hmm,” Hermione murmured dizzily. She looked up to find Luna’s round, blue eyes peering into her own.

“You look a bit flushed, Hermione. Perhaps some water?”

Luna offered her a glass of water, and Hermione accepted it gracefully.

“No Neville, tonight?” Hermione felt the forced tone of cheer in her voice, but Luna never seemed to mind.

“Oh, no.” Luna looked thoughtful. “We’ve decided to end our romantic partnership. He’s staying in Hogsmeade for the time being.”

“I’m so sorry, Luna! I didn’t know.” Hermione worried her lip guiltily at yet another detail she had missed in her friends’ lives.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Luna waved at the air as if to dispel the clouds forming above her friend’s bushy head. “Like you and Ron, we were headed in this direction long before we realized.”

It turned out that Luna was planning to stick around after the New Year to pursue a new project closer to home.

Hermione felt Malfoy’s gaze before she looked up. His eyes took in her shaking hands. His brow furrowed.

She felt like she hadn’t made a scene, but he had always been too observant. More ammunition for his ridicule.

She turned back to Luna, swallowing her mortification. The blonde woman’s eyes were shining expectantly without a hint of concern or, more importantly, pity.

“Mmm?”

“I asked what you were currently working on.”

Hermione smiled gratefully.

“Same old Ministry work. Tell me more about where you’ve been, Luna.”

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

Draco’s POV

 

He didn’t miss how Granger’s face had drained of blood when Dolohov’s name was dropped into conversation. Potter had shot a glare at Dragon Wrangler Weasley who had clamped his mouth shut instantly. The man’s complexion flushed even ruddier and reminded Draco of his least favorite brother of the Weasley brood. Weasel King also had a knack for sending the woman into fits.

Now Granger was swaying slightly, white as a poltergeist. Harry made to go over but Ginny shook her head in warning. What was that about?

Lovegood drifted over on her own and managed to provide sufficient distraction.

A moment later, Granger snuck a sheepish look around the room with a slight flush to her cheek.

Granger was scarred from the war—more than most. Draco felt a twinge of what might qualify as guilt for his part in it. Apparently she was still dealing with the ramifications.

Distracted, Draco failed to avert his gaze, and suddenly he was staring into Granger’s doe-eyes. He was struck by the vulnerability he saw there, before the familiar, steely walls came slamming down.

Right, that look was more familiar.

“Want to pop that open?” Harry appeared next to him and gestured down.

Draco looked down and realized he was still holding the bottle of wine. The one he had brought. For the party.

“Thank you for inviting me to your home. It’s...” Draco faltered slightly when he saw Harry’s brow crinkled in confusion. Draco rolled his eyes internally. “It is lovely. The restorations seem to have gone well.”

“Alright, Draco?”

Draco coughed awkwardly. Potter had been raised in a cupboard, yes, but he should be able to respond to guests with some form of basic hospitality.

There was a second cough—this time not his.

“It’s a Pureblood thing, Harry. Calm down.”

His redheaded supervisor waddled over to give her husband a peck on the cheek. Ginny was right, but Draco envied the casualness with which she could utter such a statement.

Instead of responding to Potter’s rhetorical question, he turned to the other Potter in the room.

“…Ginny.”

“Draco.” Ginny smiled warmly. “You look like shite.”

“Living above a greasy, vermin-infested pub for a few months might do that. You can thank the Head Auror for that assignment.” He shot back.

“She’s a real bitch, but I heard she’s on the way out.” Ginny replied breezily. “Beer?”

Draco simply inclined his head with a small nod and a smirk as he took the proffered beer.

It was one of those Muggle “craft” beers, Potter was obsessed with. This bottle had an owl on it. None of them tasted the same, so it was with some apprehension that Draco took his first sip. Hmm.

“It’s Japanese.” Draco could hear the barely disguised glee in Potter’s tone.

“Delightful.”

“Everyone sit!” Ginny shouted louder for everyone to hear. “Dinner’s ready!”

Looking at his seating options, Draco realized that he was quickly running out of choices. Unlike formal Wizard dinners, the seating here was clearly not determined by the host.

He really just didn’t want to be near Loony. In his few interactions with Lovegood since the war, Draco still couldn’t tell if she had forgiven him for her imprisonment in the Malfoy dungeons or had plain forgotten the whole ordeal. She had been balanced on the blade of sanity before the War. He really wasn’t sure if he wanted to know which side of the knife she fell on now.

Granger was another one to stay away from.

Thankfully, Ginny nodded pointedly to a seat far from Luna—between her husband and the brother that was built like a brick shithouse, Charlie.

Potter immediately dragged him into conversation about Quidditch that George and Charlie jumped on enthusiastically. It was a lively discussion that updated Draco on a lot of the goings-on in the League.

Apparently the Falcons had recently lost their coach. The juicy part of it was the whispers of nepotism following him on his way out.

Aaron Fledgley, head coach and retired world-class Chaser, had been coming off of a winning season. Surprising everyone, he had suddenly announced his departure from the Falcons.

Fledgley claimed that it was a routine change made to ensure that the team was moving forward, but it didn’t take long for reports to surface of his benching promising players in favor of his own son. Apparently the Falcons had lost a number of contracts to rival teams.

“The thing is that Jeff Fledgley is a fair Chaser,” said Harry, referring to the son.

“Not like his Dad though,” George retorted.

“Not good. Fledgley should’ve been looking out for the whole team, and stuff like this damages morale,” Charlie inserted. “If he was so good, he could’ve signed to any number of teams.”

Draco recalled vaguely that Charlie had been Quidditch Captain during his time at Hogwarts.

“It’s not the same as playing for his Dad’s old team,” Harry said. It didn’t escape anyone’s notice that one of Harry’s greatest memories was playing seeker for Gryffindor like his dad. Then, before anyone had time to tiptoe around Harry’s orphan issues, he nodded at Draco. “What do you think?”

Speaking of daddy issues.

“Shouldn’t have happened in the first place,” he heard himself grumble.

“What do you mean?” Charlie prodded when Draco didn’t elaborate.

Draco fiddled with the label on the beer bottle, as he considered his response.

“Either the father shouldn’t have accepted head coach or the son should have turned down the contract.”

“I mean, yeah, in a world where there’s no temptation,” George said.

“There’s always temptation, but two grown men fucked up here, and they took their legacy down with them.” Draco realized he was being a bit intense when he felt the weight of the silence.

But when he looked up, what he saw was smug approval from the Boy Who Lived and begrudging respect from the two gingers.

Draco peeled the rest of the label off the amber bottle before abandoning it in the table with the rest of the empties.

He felt the warmth radiating at him, and it made his skin crawl.

He reached for the nearest clean wine glass. He needed something stronger to get through the rest of this evening.

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

Hermione’s POV

 

It was about 10 minutes before Ginny took the empty seat next to her. Everyone had settled into the meal. Even Malfoy was participating in some Quidditch discussion with the boys.

Hermione had busied herself with filling her plate. She was a fool for missing so many dinners in the past year, honestly.

“Alright?” Ginny nipped a piece of chicken off of Hermione’s plate.

“Get a fork, for Merlin’s sake. And, no, I’m mortified, thank you for asking,” Hermione responded immediately.

“Don’t be. Happens to all of us.”

“Does it?”

“You know it does. I heard about this girl who was actually sleeping with a Horcrux in her bed. Fucked her up for a fair bit.”

One of Ginny’s best qualities was her ability to make light of dark situations without minimizing other people’s experiences.

Hermione nodded her assent.

After a few moments of blessed quiet, she realized that Ginny kept sneaking glances over at her and was practically buzzing.

Hermione took a bite of the roast chicken on her plate and tried to ignore her friend’s fidgeting. Anytime Ginny was this bouncy meant something unfortunate was brewing.

“Guess who I bumped into in Diagon Alley yesterday.”

“Why were you in Diagon?” Hermione deflected immediately, wishing she has thought to owl Ginny and make it a girl’s day. Merlin, she was a bad friend.

“Errands. I just popped in for a moment.” Ginny waved her hand at Hermione’s apologetic look. “Anyways, you didn’t guess.”

“I hate guessing.” Hermione glanced at Malfoy who was quietly cutting apart his potatoes while Charlie teased George about Angelina Johnson. Malfoy stood out spectacularly in most situations, but especially at a Weasley dinner. For one thing, he had impeccable table manners.

“Theo Nott,” Ginny declared, looking a bit smug.

Hermione noticed that Draco stiffened slightly and begin to turn his head. She quickly looked back at Ginny, not wanting to give Malfoy a reason to start something. She had been staring to an impolite degree, and she knew how particular he was about etiquette. She vaguely remembered a Nott from school. Potions with the Slytherins. Kept to himself.

“From Hogwarts?”

“Obviously, Hermione.”

Hermione groaned and reached for her glass of wine. It looked and smelled more expensive than her flat, and she definitely needed it if Ginny was going where she usually went with guessing games. “What are you up to now.”

“Nothing.” Ginny shrugged over-casually and took a bite of potatoes off of Hermione’s plate. “Why? Do you want me to do something?”

“Quit it.”

“Besides that.”

“Find a hobby.”

“Pregnant.” Ginny flourished her fork at her belly before stealing another scrap from Hermione’s plate.

“Leave poor Nott out of your schemes. Are you going to be like this through your entire maternity leave because I may come to regret my promise to spend more time with you.”

“Worse, probably. Anyways, why can’t I at least try to get you back out there? Theo’s very easy on the eyes and well read. He works with books and artifacts, Hermione. It means he has manual dexterity.” Ginny waggled her eyebrows and wiggled her fingers in Hermione’s face.

“You are horrible. I’m not looking for a relationship.” Hermione pointedly ignored the jab at her interests and the typically Ginny innuendo.

“You never are. And who says it has to be a relationship. Sometimes it’s just nice to have options…for late nights and Saturday morning.”

“He’s basically a stranger.”

“Better than Cormac.”

“Undoubtedly, but I maintain that I don’t need casual sex to be fulfilled. I have my job-“

“‘And my research and I have you and Harry,’” Ginny finished in a rather unflattering imitation of Hermione.

“Yes, well.”

Hermione changed the topic over to Ginny and Harry’s plans for the nursery, and that distracted her hormonal friend nicely.

As dinner was winding down and her friends had become rosy from drinking and laughing, Hermione pressed her hands to her face and found them to be warm to the touch. Ginny had wandered off to talk to Harry, and Hermione had been left to her own devices.

Ginny had moved them all to the living area, filled with random chairs and sofas. The alcohol had, of course, moved with them. Hermione may have detested the bringer of the wine, but she was thoroughly enjoying the wine itself.

“Do not try to date Theo.”

Hermione bristled at the distinctive drawl. She had just sat down in a comfortable overstuffed loveseat, when she felt his looming presence.

“Are you friends?” She asked, searching through her memory and only seeing Malfoy flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

“You could say that.”

“Which is presumably how Ginny met him?”

Malfoy inclined his head though he visibly clenched his jaw. It seemed to take great effort for him not to snap at her. Hermione felt a flicker of irritation that it cost him so much just to have a conversation with her when he had been fully capable of doing so in a bookshop not days before.

Usually, Hermione would balk at any advice Malfoy shot her way—and he had had a lot of material to go on over the years, from her personality to her clothes to her hair. The only thing that had been taken off the table since their time in school was her blood status.

At the same time, she knew Harry and Ginny trusted this man. He was near the top of his field, if she were to go by reputation.

And at the end of the day, Hermione had never been the kind of person who could maintain a rivalry with another person.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Hermione sighed.

“What?”

“Never mind.” Hermione suddenly remember to whom she was speaking—someone who had probably never been fishing in his whole Pureblooded life. He wouldn’t recognize the idiom.

“Why would you bite someone?” Malfoy drawled.

“It’s an expression.”

Malfoy’s brow furrowed momentarily as if she were mocking him. Hermione huffed in frustration, as he glowered down at her. Typical.

“Why shouldn’t I date Nott?”

“You want my opinion now?” Malfoy asked the question with a sarcastic edge. Hermione reminded herself that one nice moment couldn’t have possibly caused their dynamic to change at all. He could banter with Harry and Ginny, but he and she would always be diametrically opposed.

“Since you offered it up so gamely I thought you might have wisdom to share,” Hermione retorted, feeling disappointment lodge itself into her stomach.

She looked down at her hands, only to look up in shock when she felt her weight shift as Malfoy took the open seat next to her. It’s not like they were pressed up against one another, but they’d never sat together voluntarily.

“Far be it from me to suggest I know anything you don’t already,” Malfoy smirked and took a delicate sip of his wine. Hermione waited for him to clear his throat and continue. “But one should never take on a man as a project.”

“I would never.”

“You absolutely would and did. What was Weasley except a giant, fruitless attempt to groom yourself a boyfriend?”

Hermione became so instantly furious her head swam, and she blinked past the sudden rush of blood to her head.

“Being a savior is an abominably Gryffindor trait.” Malfoy continued, intentionally oblivious to Hermione’s growing ire, in an insufferably smug tone. “It that doesn’t translate well to dating men like Theo.”

“Or you, perhaps.” Hermione snapped back, finally finding her voice. “Though I suppose a man like you sees no room for self-improvement in himself or his friends.”

Draco shrugged noncommittally, which served to infuriate Hermione more.

“Or maybe you feel fine playing the tragic hero for the rest of your life?” She knew she shouldn’t goad him, but the irritation crawling through her skin needed an outlet and she was far past productive.

The look he shot at her was condescending. The corresponding rush of adrenaline collided with the alcohol in her blood, making her feel slightly nauseated.

“You know better than most that I’m no hero.”

She realized with a start that she had been leaning in toward him rather confrontationally. She retreated back to her side of the sofa, for air more than anything else.

“Strong words for an Auror.”

“Better than an Azkaban sentence any day.”

He smirked at her discomfort and took another sip from his glass. She wanted to call him a liar, but they both already knew it.

Here was the crux of their issue. At his core, Malfoy was a survivalist—content to navigate the world for his own gain. Nothing in his actions had ever shown he cared about the state of their world—only his relative comfort within it.

Hermione knew herself to be a person who would always try to change the world for the better because she believed it could be better. Perhaps she has transferred some of that desire into her own relationship with Ron. It stung that Malfoy, as always, knew where to hit her.

Horrified, she felt her eyes burn with unshed tears. Merlin, how much had she had? She was such a weepy drunk.

Looking up at Malfoy, she saw a flicker of something that could have been concern flash across his face, and Hermione, cornered and buzzed, lashed out.

“I should know by now not to trust a word you say. You may be hellbent on being a vicious coward for the rest of your miserable, lonely life, but that doesn’t mean that everyone else needs to follow suit.” Hermione stopped herself from clapping her hand over her mouth, even when she saw his eyes widen slightly in shock at her vitriol.

He blinked momentarily, and she noted that she had rendered the man speechless for the second time in a week. Granted they hadn’t been at each other’s throats at the bookstore.

Still, it was nicer to be around him when he was dumbstruck. Hermione chuckled to herself at the mental image of him with the pile of books in his arms and that thunderstruck look on his face. It was devastatingly funny, she realized dizzily as she sipped her wine.

Then she realized that he was eyeing her in the way that one might appraise a painting, and it immediately pulled her back into the moment.

“You never change.” He said, and, for some reason, it really pissed her off.

“You never will.” She meant it as a condemnation, as surely as he had meant his as an insult.

She saw his jaw twitch. Once. Twice.

The fire burning in Malfoy’s irises flashed as he leaned towards Hermione, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. She froze, as he bent to hiss into her ear. Her skin felt like it had caught fire where his lips brushed her neck, and Hermione froze.

“A snake can shed it’s skin, but it’s still a snake.” The next breath he exhaled sent an electric tingle down her neck. “Stay the fuck away from Theo.”

Then he was gone.

Hermione felt disoriented at Malfoy’s sudden departure from her space, like a vacuum had appeared next to her and sucked out all the air. She had forgotten about Nott.

Hermione closed her eyes. Her limbs felt heavy. Her skin felt hot where Malfoy’s breath had touched.

She looked up to find him fixing her with an challenging look. His pupils were the darkest she’d ever seen them.

“You two alright?” Harry glanced uncertainly between the two of them, and Hermione immediately jumped back in her seat guiltily.

“Fine, Harry.” Hermione plastered a less than convincing smile to her face.

Malfoy grimaced and took a deep gulp of his wine to avoid answering.

“Well, if your sure.” Harry looked at Hermione in askance. “Ginny wants to talk to Malfoy about work.”

“Well, please. Don’t let me keep—.” Malfoy stood and stalked out of the room before Hermione could finish.

“Alright, Hermione?”

“Fine, Harry. Ginny being Ginny closely followed by Malfoy being Malfoy. Just leave it, please.” She felt like a punctured balloon.

Harry raised his eyebrows but otherwise didn’t say anything except to ask Hermione if she wanted more wine, which she gladly accepted.

What was that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Fledgley thing is inspired by the controversy around Zidane. What can I say, I’m watching the World Cup.


	6. Author Note

Hi everyone,

I just wanted to post a quick update. The area I am in has had a series of catastrophic weather events and natural disasters in a relatively short time frame, so I've been a bit frayed at the edges dealing with the fallout at work and at home. I also hit a bit of writer's block.

I am fine and safe, but I am going to be late on this update. It's currently about 20% finished.

Thanks for your patience. I am going to try to get a new Tumblr set up to go along with my posts.

I also jut want to thank everyone that is sticking with me. I know this is a slow, slow burn. The pay-off is coming, I promise.

Best,  
DD


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.  
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! <3

 

 

 

_Whitehall, London_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Another Monday_

_December 22, 2003_

 

 

Draco had been back in London for a fortnight, and he couldn’t seem to avoid her. Apparently one thing Draco had missed, in his absence, was the complete takeover of the Ministry by the most famous Muggleborn in Wizarding Britain. It seemed impossible that magical creatures could be this requisite to the functioning of the their world.

 

She’d appear suddenly, curls bouncing and nose firmly lodged in her notes, rushing from one department to another. Wizards and witches alike seemed to be wrapped around the Golden Girl’s finger.

 

Cormac McLaggen, the prick, was particularly single-minded in his pursuit of the woman. Draco wasn’t ignorant to the potential benefits of bedding and wedding Granger, but he was done with humiliating himself for political gain.

 

Inconveniently, he’d found himself unable to cast any of his usual barbs in her direction. The last thing he needed was a scandal painting him as an unreformed blood supremacist grasping for power. It would be so easy for him to fall down that sinkhole.

 

Not to mention that every time she had spotted him, she’d walk past, refusing to acknowledge him with anything but the stubborn, upward tilt of her lightly freckled nose.

 

Speaking of.

 

He felt a jolt as he spotted the bushy haired woman coming down the hall. He thought she might have hesitated a moment at seeing him, but it could have been a trick of the dim lighting.

 

The only indication that she was aware of him was the stubborn set of her jaw. She pointedly didn't to meet his eyes.

 

It was so childish of her. Honestly.

 

At least she wasn’t in MLE, so he didn't have to see her there. She might have half the Ministry under her sensible heels, but he could learn to work around her.

 

Ginny had pulled him aside at her dinner to let him know that the transition was going to begin as soon as possible. Since then, he’d been inundated with all the intricacies and redundancies of the Ministry’s bureaucracy. His father would have thrived in this capacity. Then again, people who craved power oftenfucked up once they had it.

 

He rubbed the left forearm of his robes, as he felt the nagging itch of his deadened Dark Mark. He found that it was, unfortunately, keyed into his emotions as only Dark magic could be, and what he was currently feeling could not be categorized as _light_.

 

“Auror Malfoy?”

 

He started as he recognized the sheepish looking wizard that had joined him as his new assistant Belby. He checked his wristwatch and cursed at the time.

 

Turning quickly and heading for the lifts, he motioned for his assistant to follow him.

 

The young man looked nervous, and Draco wrestled his temper before opening his mouth.

 

“Belby.”

 

“H-Here are the reports for your meeting with the Minister. The top sheet is a summary of the major points.”

 

Draco nodded curtly, taking the folder.

 

They’d insisted he take an assistant, but, despite his need for one, Draco felt on edge as the young man hovered behind him.

 

He’d never had a partner as a field Auror, a blatant violation of protocol that had worked out beautifully for everyone involved. Draco hadn’t needed to make nice, and the other Aurors hadn’t had to work with a Death Eater.

 

“While I’m meeting with the Minister, compile the latest training reports. I’ll also need statistics on field Auror performance for the last 50 years. Consult Auror Potter for details.”

 

There was a momentary pause before Belby responded.

 

“Y-yes, Sir.” There was that hint of hero worship in his tone. Draco’s lip curled.

 

“Don’t ask him to sign anything or I will snap your wand myself.”

 

“No, Sir. Of course, Sir.”

 

The lift door opened and Belby stepped off. In a moment, Draco was blissfully alone. At least the kid didn’t hover for long.

 

He made it to the Minister’s Office without any more run-ins.

 

This time, Draco only had to make eye contact with the Minister’s secretary before he was waved forward.

 

He felt the slightest burn of satisfaction at his reacquired privilege. Shacklebolt looked up from his expansive, rosewood desk and waved Draco over to sit.

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

_Whitehall, London_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Ministry of Magic Archives_

 

 

Theodore Nott looked up at the sound of faint knocking on his door in surprise. Gladys had just taken her lunch hour.

 

He didn’t exactly have many visitors on a regular day, especially without appointments, so to say he was shocked to see Hermione Granger walk through his door would be an understatement.

 

“Mr. Nott. I’m not intruding, am I?”

 

“Not at all, Ms. Granger.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I apologize, did we have an appointment?”

 

“Oh, no! No.” Her cheeks flushed. “I apologize. I can come back later-“

 

“Not at all. Please. Do come in...” Theo quickly shuffled the documents on his desk around to make room for her to sit. She smiled appreciatively, and Theo was slightly dumbstruck at finding himself in this position.

 

“Mr. Nott.”

 

“Please, call me Theo.”

 

She smiled again, more genuinely.

 

“Theo. Yes, well, I’m actually here to ask a favor.”

 

“I see. Please continue.”

 

“Well,” she smoothed her hands nervously over her pants, and Theo was suddenly struck with the understanding that whatever had brought Ms. Granger to his office was of a delicate nature.

 

“I must congratulate you on your work with the W.E.A., Ms. Granger.”

 

“Thank you. Please call me Hermione.” She sounded surprised, and he chuckled. “Do you have an invested interest in werewolf rights?”

 

“A structural reform of that size affects all areas of the Ministry, even my small operation.”

 

At the mention of his department, she brightened considerably.

 

“That’s what I’ve come to discuss with you actually.”

 

“The W.E.A?”

 

“No, your department.” She summoned a quill and notebook from her bag and flipped through until she settled on a specific page.

 

“My department?”

 

“In a manner of speaking.” She paused in her reading to look him in the eyes. It startled him, mostly because he was used to people pointedly averting their eyes when he was around. “I’m actually in the process of leaving my division.”

 

“I see.”

 

“I was actually planning on leaving the Ministry entirely, but the Minister is… attempting to persuade me to stay.”

 

“Understandably.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Losing the Golden Girl would reflect poorly on him.”

 

She sighed.

 

“Yes, well. I don’t care much for politics.”

 

This did surprise Theo who, like many of the Ministry drones, assumed that Granger had her eyes on the Minister’s seat. In the past few weeks, he’d been hearing some whispers in the hallways about her Shacklebolt. Everyone seemed to expect her to take a higher position within the Ministry after her success in Magical Creatures.

 

She must have read his expression because she closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

 

“I made a deal with Kingsley, actually, which is why I’m here. I’m meant to visit any department I find interesting and see if any of them can hold my interest.”

 

He grinned at her.

 

“So you’ve come to visit Magical Archives. You are clearly trying your best to get out the Ministry.”

 

His grin widened to a smile as her cheeks flushed and she began to splutter.

 

“No. You misunderstand. I am truly interested in the work you do here. I see how it might appear, but I want to reassure you-“

 

Theo laughed for the first time in a long time. Hermione Granger was actually quite charming.

 

She stopped mid-explanation to stare at him, and he waved his hand in apology.

 

“I apologize, Ms. Granger.” She opened her mouth automatically, and he rerouted. “I mean, Hermione. It’s not often I have company down here. I should be better behaved.”

 

"Not at all. I understand how it might appear, but I do have a genuine interest in the work you do here.

 

Hermione seemed to relax. She tucked her hair behind her ear self-consciously and smiled back. Before they could lapse into awkward silence, Theo decided to help her along.

 

“What would you like to know about Magical Archives, Hermione?”

 

“Well.” Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out an impossibly thick folder that she opened on his desk with a _whump_. “I’ve done some preliminary reading, so I am aware of the basic function of the department.”

 

“Indeed.” His lip twitched.

 

She glanced up at him and seemed to accept that he wasn’t having a laugh before continuing.

 

“Honestly I’m surprised that you are the only member of the department.”

 

“I do have Gladys.”

 

“Yes, of course. Excuse me. I meant the only specialized member of the department. It’s just, well, thousands of Magical artifacts pass through these doors. You look at them all?”

 

“We do work in conjunction with many other departments—curse breakers, Unspeakables, Aurors, solicitors. I do initial assessments, but handling is distributed out across the Ministry.”

 

“But you maintain all of the Ministry records on your own?”

 

“Most of these old archives manage themselves.”

 

“Fascinating.”

 

Normally Theo might be a bit defensive about this line of questioning, but the woman seemed genuinely interested even in her own strangely analytical way.

 

“Do you get new contracts often?”

 

“We are still going through artifacts recovered or surrendered from the War and that’s still the bulk of the day-to-day.” Hermione nodded in understanding. “Actually I’m in the middle of negotiating a contract with Hogwarts.”

 

Her eyes lit up at the mention of their alma mater.

 

“Hogwarts? Really?”

 

“Perhaps Minerva mentioned it to you? There’s an ongoing excavation below the school.”

 

“I actually haven’t spoken to her in ages, but I know they recovered some old passageways. Are you going to be on site?”

 

“We are still working on the details. It will be difficult to manage, but we are considering a direct Floo-“

 

“Your secretary is gone. If you fired her, please feel free to take my assistant.”

 

Both Theo and Hermione jumped as Draco strode into the room and headed to Theo’s liquor cabinet to pour a drink for himself.

 

“Have you eaten?” He continued obliviously.

 

Before Theo could begin an apology for the interruption, Hermione had shrunken into her seat. Her eyes were closed what looked oddly like distress. She clearly recognized who had entered the room.

 

“Draco...” Theo said warningly.

 

Draco turned and abruptly frozen at realizing there was a third person in the room.

 

Hermione had already begun stuffing her belongings back into her tiny satchel in a flurry of movement.

 

“Who-“ Draco stopped abruptly and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Granger?”

 

“Malfoy.” Her voice was curt but professional.

 

“Hermione was just-“ Theo tried to diffuse the tension.

 

“Hermione, is it?”

 

His tone was icy, even for him.

 

“Draco.” Theo shot another warning, but Draco had zeroed in on the woman.

 

“Theo, I mean, Mr. Nott. Thank you for your time.” Hermione’s voice has dropped back into its formal tone. She stood, ignoring Draco’s questions about what she was doing here, and virtually fled the room.

 

As the door shut quietly behind her, Draco rounded on his best friend.

 

“What was that?”

 

“I could ask you the same.”

 

Draco grimaced and took another sip from his glass. He was pacing back and forth in front of Theo’s desk.

 

Theo cocked his head to the side as he considered the man standing across from him. He recalled Draco’s disdain for the witch in school but had assumed that he was making nice with her like the rest of Potter’s lot. Clearly not.

 

Or maybe...

 

Draco stopped his pacing to glare accusingly at the grin spreading across Theo’s face.

 

“What is _that_?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why are you smiling like an idiot?”

 

“You, my dear friend, are an absolute twat.”

 

Huffing, Draco flopped down into the chair that Hermione had just vacated.

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

Hermione blinked back furious tears as she rushed down the hallway back to her own office. It was embarrassing, to say the least, that her body’s reaction to anger was to cry. It was a weakness that she had kept guarded from anyone not with her immediate circle of friends. It had been a long time since she’d had such an emotional reaction at work.

 

She was, honestly, a bit overwhelmed at the moment. Having Draco Malfoy revert back to his worst self, at least in regards to her, was simply adding to her already elevated stress levels.

 

Hermione sat down in her chair and set her bag down. She needed a moment.

 

Her last meeting with Kingsley had been eye-opening. She had figured that resigning from the department would be met with some resistance, but Kingsley had laid the whole of the Ministry open at her feet.

 

She could work anywhere, in any department, and he would ease the transition. Training would be provided. Introductions would be made.

 

He had assured her that many of the Department Heads had already expressed interest in providing her with a position. She had doubted it, considering her relative lack of experience and age compared to the other higher-ups.

 

Honestly, the offer irritated her. She had had to grind stone to get to her position in Magical Creatures, and, now, Kingsley was willing to grease the wheels for her. Where had all of this support been in the past five years?

 

She should have turned him down on principle; however, the side of her that craved knowledge couldn’t pass up the opportunity to explore otherwise inaccessible areas of the Ministry.

 

They had made an arrangement. Hermione would select a few Departments and see if she could envision herself working in any of them. It would satisfy her curiosity while allowing her the option of resigning at the end of the year.

 

What she hadn’t been expecting was how quickly word of their agreement had spread across the departments. Really, she should have seen it. Kingsley was a politician at heart.

 

What had ensued was barely contained chaos. At least by Hermione's measure.

 

She had tried to set up appointments in the first week but quickly found that the visits were becoming something of a spectacle. Many of the departments had clearly gone out of their way to appeal to her, which left her with the impression that what she saw on her visits were not an authentic representation of day to day operations.

 

Lee Jordan had begun stopping her in the hallways to talk about coming to the Department of Magical Games and Sports, which was a patently absurd idea. Still, it hadn’t stopped him from trying.

 

Cormac had tried to lure her to his department with the promise of light work days and countless parties and dinners with officials from the other magical communities. He didn’t know her at all. What a nightmare. She’d tried to let him down gently.

 

Changing tactics, she had begun dropping into departments without warning, and that had seemed to work slightly better. The Unspeakables had, of course, been expecting her--which was fascinating in and of itself.

 

Mostly, her visits had reaffirmed her decision to leave the Ministry entirely. She was growing tired of the constant maneuvering needed to survive in the higher positions, which seemed to be the only ones she was qualified to fill.

 

She had been undecided about visiting the Archives, but the possibility of having access to Wizarding Britain's most cherished historical artifacts proved too tempting. The fact that the mysterious Theodore Nott was the sole wizard in the entire department surprised but didn’t shock her. After all, hadn’t she been in that position before? When she had begun the W.E.A., she’d been given a small, neglected office and a Ministry owl. This was part and parcel of being a less valued member of an organization subject to the ebb and flow of politics.

 

Still, she had been pleasantly surprised by Mr. Nott...Theo. After how Malfoy had acted about the man, she’d made some assumptions. Unfairly, clearly.

 

Theo seemed to be quiet and highly competent. It must be nice to have the solitude of the Archives welcome him every day at work.

 

It was a pity they hadn’t gotten to talk about the project at Hogwarts.

 

Pulling out a bit of parchment and her quill, Hermione wrote a short note. She called her owl into her office and placed the missive in its beak.

 

“Please take this to Theodore Nott in the Ministry Archives.”

 

The owl departed, and she sighed heavily.

 

Draco Malfoy continued to be an issue. She’d initially been quite nervous to see him at the Ministry following their argument at Ginny and Harry’s. She’d assumed he’d continue poking and prodding at her, perhaps even using what he learned at the dinner to tease her more relentlessly.

 

Instead, he’d surprised her by doing nothing.

 

Well, if one could consider staring to be nothing.

 

Now that he was, seemingly, home for the holidays, she couldn’t seem to avoid him. It seemed like she saw him swooping down the hallways on a near daily basis, and she could feel the weight of his eyes on her whenever their paths crossed.

 

She’d tried to be as professional as her pride would allow, but she could see his irritation simmering beneath the surface.

 

The man was suspicious to a fault. Honestly.

 

And now he seemed to think she was actively pursuing his friend.

 

She wished, not for the first time, she hadn’t spoken to him at Flourish and Bolts. It had obviously done more harm than good. More distance was definitely needed.

 

Hermione groaned and rubbed her forehead with her hand. She just needed to make it to the new year. Malfoy would be deployed back into the field, and she would, hopefully, be working somewhere far far away from the Ministry as well.

 

An owl she recognized as Ginny’s flew into the office, and she handed it a treat. As the owl nibbled away, she unfolded the note.

 

_Come to the Burrow for Christmas._

_I’ll bring the dress._

_I still cannot believe you didn’t try them all on._

_You’re lucky this isn’t a Howler!_

  
_< 3 Ginny_

 

Hermione, smiled, despite her shitty mood. Ginny had had a stroppy fit when Hermione had walked into her closet last week and simply pointed at the most conservative dress of the lot. She agreed to try the one dress on but flatly refused to put on a fashion show, even for her best friend. Most of them were obviously too flashy for a work event. Some of them were even missing pieces.

 

Honestly, who cared about dressing up for a Ministry event? Ginny should be grateful that Hermione wasn’t wearing her pantsuit. She loved Ginny, but the woman was positively batty sometimes.

 

Still grinning, she took out another piece of parchment to write back to Ginny.

 

_Thank you for not sending a Howler._

_See you at the Burrow._

_Love you._

_~Hermione_

 

In hindsight, she should have realized that Malfoy was going to be there.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.  
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

 

 

 

The Burrow

Fucking Christmas Day

 

 

 

“Stop acting like a hippogriff is chewing off your leg,” Theo said as he dusted the Floo powder off his shirt. “What? Too soon?”

 

Draco glared at him, feeling his hand twitch. It was a combination of nerves and the sudden itch to push his friend back into the fireplace.

 

Not to kill him. Just to strand him somewhere.

 

“What is the point of all this?” He drawled, dusting his own robes off. Already the smells of the Weasley family home were scratching at his nerves. It was too warm in the room. There were photos and knick-knacks everywhere.

 

“Making merry. Not drinking yourself to filth alone in your unfurnished flat.” Theo was uncharacteristically optimistic, which Draco chalked up to his friend’s exceptionally fortuitous week at the Ministry.

 

It seemed that attaching Hermione Granger to one’s project came with a tide of benefits, like full funding and not being glared down in the hallways. Tongues were still wagging about what could have possessed the Hermione Granger to choose Magical Archives of all places as her next post.

 

Draco was completely unsurprised that Hermione would choose to work in what was essentially the Ministry’s library, but the move shocked most of the Ministry workers who had assumed she’d be pursuing the Minister’s seat. Taking the position in Theo’s department had essentially removed her from having any political clout.

 

Theo hadn’t spoken at length regarding his new subordinate, but Draco had observed the new spring in his step. The typically morose man had seemingly lightened up. Was it the Golden Girl’s magical touch? Inquiring Ministry goons wanted to know.

 

What Draco was feeling wasn’t resentment. It wasn't envy either since he’d rather peel off his skin than go back to Hogwarts. He was far from suffering in his own life.

 

Draco had simply found himself not going to Theo’s office at their usual lunch hour. He had walked by the office once but the sound of tinkling laughter and warm conversation caused his stomach to turn uncomfortably, and he had decided to take lunch on his own from that point forward.

 

He supposed that Ginny had a point about Granger and his best friend. They shared many common interests. He may have made an ass of himself warning Granger away from Theo, but seeing how Theo had reacted in the few days since Granger had joined his department had changed Draco’s mind. Perhaps it was time for Theo to experience something genuinely good in his life.

 

Christmas morning had dawned cold, and Draco had spent the afternoon at a quiet lunch with his mother. Narcissa had asked few questions about Draco’s new Ministry position, and Draco could feel, but not bring himself to assuage, the unease coming off of his mother in waves.

 

Still, the grounds at Malfoy Manor were beautiful, and the solitude seemed fitting for the occasion.

 

His plan for the remainder of the day was to drink himself to ruin and sleep early, but Theo had shown up promptly to drag him to the Weasley’s. It turns out that with his budding friendship with Granger had included Theo into the Weasleys’ fold. As if they didn’t have enough strays already.

 

He was brought back to the present by Theo’s voice.

 

“I don’t know why you are so reluctant to come over here. Really you should be dragging me, as they actually work with you and I’m simply a hanger-on.”

 

“You’ve obviously made such an impression that your invite was secure with or without my presence,” Draco grumbled.

 

“And yet we arrived together.” Theo grinned a bit, enjoying the opportunity to poke at his prickly best friend. Honestly, the bastard was being too smug.

 

“Fuck off—“ Draco began.

 

“Language!” Ginny breezed into the room. “I don’t care, but Mum might bind your lips together.”

 

“You would know.” Harry laughed as he joined his wife in welcoming the two Slytherins.

 

“Merlin.” Draco stared openly at what the man was wearing. How far the mighty had fallen.

 

“What?” Harry swung his head around before realizing that Draco was talking about his jumper.

 

It was atrocious. Aggressively red and gold. Lumpy and shapeless at the same time. Obnoxious “P” sitting right in the middle, as if anyone didn’t know the man.

 

“That’s very…festive. I feel as if we might be a bit underdressed.” Theo’s eyes were also a bit wide, but he recovered quickly. Draco didn’t.

 

“Overdressed, is what you actually mean. What _is_ that?”

 

“Mum’s definitely going to curse him,” Ginny mumbled.

 

“It’s a Weasley sweater.” Harry declared proudly. “If you play your cards right, you might get one too.”

 

Draco opened and then closed his mouth, not trusting himself.

 

“Just keep it together for one dinner,” Ginny scolded, grabbing Draco’s arm to drag him into the next room. He could already hear the babble of many conversations happening at once.

 

“You’re the last to arrive.” She continued. “We aren’t fashionably late here. Everyone’s well on their way to jolly, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Quaint.”

 

“Shut it.” Ginny shot back before turning towards Theo with a beaming smile. “Theo! I am so glad you joined us.”

 

“Thank you for inviting us to your family’s home,” Theo replied, ever the polite man his forefathers weren’t.

 

“Of course. Weasleys like having a full house.” She exclaimed. “I’m so glad you could come. Hermione has been practically buzzing over your Hogwarts project. We can’t stop her talking about it.”

 

“Can you stop her talking about anything though.”

 

Ginny glared at the tall, white-blond man.

 

“Behave yourself or you’re liable to have a flock of birds set on you. You two are like children, I swear.”

 

Draco knew he sounded sulky. He didn’t need anyone to tell him.

 

Ginny and Harry ushered the men into the Weasley’s living room, where every overstuffed sofa and chair seemed to be occupied.

 

Various shouts and grunts greeted them, and it became clear that not everyone was a redhead. Also, not everyone was an adult.

 

There were…actual children.

 

He immediately felt himself tense up.

 

Where most of his friends, well friend mostly, hadn’t managed to secure partners, the Weasleys had obviously not had trouble.

 

The Weasley with a scar, the one who’d married a Veela, was sitting with a small blonde child on his lap.

 

There was another older child running around everyone’s legs with a broom in his hands.

 

George was sitting with the old Gryffindor seeker on one of the sofas. Loony was also present, as much as she ever was anyways.

 

The level of noise was stunning. Draco wondered if most Wizarding families outside of the Sacred Twenty-Eight celebrated holidays with this amount of chaos.

 

It was absurdly difficult to gather one’s thoughts.

 

Mrs. Weasley—he was supposed to call her Molly, of course—actually hugged him. It was uncomfortable, but he managed. What was more disturbing is that she was fussing about his robes, saying he was going to catch a chill.

 

He managed to nod long enough, and she left him to check on the cooking.

 

He looked around for Theo, needing a social anchor. Theo was currently holding a bottle of Muggle beer rather awkwardly and nodding with wide eyes at something Lovegood was telling him. Draco was definitely not going that conversation. Everything about that woman was alarming.

 

“Relax.”

 

Draco looked up into Harry’s green, savior eyes and took the offered beer bottle with barely disguised relief.

 

“Where’s this one from?”

 

“Salem.”

 

Draco almost spat the beer back in its bottle.

 

“What? The American town where they burned wizards to death?”

 

Harry laughed.

 

“Different Salem.”

 

Draco eyed the beer and then the other man suspiciously. He actually didn’t know where Salem was in the Americas.

 

“God, you are such a Pureblood.”

 

“You insist on collecting Muggle beers. What’s to say you aren’t blaspheming as well.”

 

“...and a drama queen.”

 

Draco took a second swig and decided that it wasn’t terrible. Was beer the wine of the Muggle world?

 

“The Queen is a witch, you know.”

 

“Of course she is.” Harry grinned.

 

“Why are there so many Muggle beers anyway? Don’t they have other problems to fix?”

 

Harry opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a familiar voice.

 

“Many Muggles work in noble professions, Malfoy, which is more than I can say for Wizarding kind.”

 

Draco found himself stuttering at the sight of her. She was wearing one of those wretched jumpers and her hair had been strangled into a loose ponytail. She was full of fire already.

 

Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes slightly glassy.

 

She was clearly in her cups. Harry shot a warning glance. Draco knew he needed to tread lightly. Their last drunken conversation had not gone well.

 

“I’m not sure I understand your meaning.”

 

She looked hilariously shocked at his tempered tone before collecting herself. Draco strangled the smirk that was trying to spread on his face. He had surprised her, and it felt sort of satisfying. 

It actually might be amusing to talk to an inebriated Hermione Granger while sober. Somehow her face was showing more emotion than usual. Right now, she was bleeding irritation.

 

Harry looked slightly worried but apparently not enough to interrupt. He took a meek draught from his beer.

 

“Well, wizards don’t do charity, do they?” She continued rather snottily.

 

“There’s an orphanage-“

 

She rolled her eyes, and it was so Granger. She wasn’t angry with him though, and he found himself relaxing a bit. This was more in line with how she treated Weasley. While that annoyed the shit out of Draco, it was also slightly exhilarating.

 

“Funded by the _Ministry_ , yes.”

 

“Well, of course.” She was looking at him like he had just said that broomsticks could fly. He wasn’t following, but he was a bit distracted.

 

“In the _Muggle_ world,” She drew out the word as if trying to provoke him. “Citizens volunteer, raise money, even create companies whose sole focus is to raise awareness or funding for a cause.”

 

As with everything, she was speaking as if what she was saying was common knowledge. Draco was aware of the concept of charity, but it was often the work of idle Pureblood wives. He had no idea what volunteering entailed.

 

“I...see.”

 

“Of course, you don’t.”

 

She groaned, rather loudly, and then stomped away.

 

Harry called after her once but seemed to let it go.

 

“You two seem to be getting on a bit better,” Harry commented awkwardly.

 

“Really.”

 

“Well, no.”

 

Draco lips tightened into a grimace.

 

“It’s alright.” Harry downed the rest of his beer and patted Draco heavily on the back. “Here. Have a cracker.”

 

Harry dropped a bright, red Christmas cracker into Draco’s hand and wandered off, probably to get a refill.

 

Draco stared at the cracker in his hands and then surveyed the room. Theo had taken no time at all ingratiating himself with the Weasleys and their ilk. He could see the man nodding and smiling at something Ginny was saying. Lovegood was still there.

 

He glanced down at the cracker in his hands again, only to find one of the children standing in front of him, staring openly at the thing. The boy’s eyes shone with longing. He had black hair and green eyes. He was young, but Draco had no idea what age. Not Hogwarts age. He looked kind of like Potter, which was odd, because the man only had the one in his wife’s belly.

 

Draco tried.

 

"Hello.”

 

The child looked up into his eyes curiously. Draco held out the cracker silently.

 

The boy’s eyes lit up with excitement and reached out for the toy. His black hair shifted to green, and his brown eyes flashed to red.

 

Draco recoiled and let out a shout. The boy jumped back and promptly started crying.

 

The room immediately fell silent. Draco held out his hands awkwardly, not touching the child, but sort of hovering around him. He was panicking now. Who were the parents?

 

“What’s happened now?”

 

Draco assumed that George was talking to him, but the Weasley smiled and crouched down in front of the boy.

 

The boy threw himself into the man’s arms, still sobbing.

 

“I-I’m sorry.” Draco stumbled. “I didn’t know that…that-”

 

“He’s a Metamorphmagus.” Harry had come over and clapped Draco on the back. “Don’t worry, Draco. Kids cry.”

 

Draco shot a look of incredulity at the man. He had made a small child cry. Didn’t that make him a terrible person? Why wasn’t he being dragged away?

 

“Teddy!” Ginny called from the other side of the room. “You should know better than to shift in front of new friends.”

 

“Teddy?” Draco stopped short.

 

“Oh yes,” Ginny waddled over with a smile on her face. “Draco, meet your cousin, Teddy Lupin.”

 

Teddy let out a louder wail.

 

“Ah. I see.”

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.
> 
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

  
The Burrow  
Christmas Day  
  
  
“It’s alright, you know.”  
  
Hermione was feeling slightly bad for the man. At least that’s what she admitted to herself as she took a seat next to an unusually restrained Malfoy who was sitting on one of the worn sofas in the Weasleys’ living room.  
  
Teddy had calmed down quickly and was now flying around the garden with his child’s broom, but Draco was still looking a bit peaky. He’d obviously not been around many young children.  
  
Malfoy grunted non committally.  
  
“I’m serious, Draco. Kids cry all the time.”  
  
He looked at her then with a strange intensity before he turned his gaze back to his hands.  
  
“Is he happy?”  
  
“Teddy?” Hermione glanced at the now ginger-haired blur speeding past the window. “Yes. I mean, he is just started to ask real questions about Remus and Tonks, but he’s generally a perfectly happy, little boy.”  
  
“Potter talks about him sometimes at work. I was under the impression he was being raised by his grandmother.”  
  
“Andromeda has been taking care of Teddy for the longest time, but Harry and Ginny are stepping in more and more.”  
  
He opened and closed his mouth as if struggling to formulate what he was going to say. In the past few weeks, Hermione had begun to realize that under Draco’s sophisticated veneer, he was, at times, rather awkward.  
  
He settled on a simple question.  
  
“May I ask why?”  
  
He sounded hesitant, and Hermione realized that it was probably difficult for him to ask about a woman who had probably been burned off their family’s tapestry.  
  
“Well, everyone wants Teddy to have siblings to grow up with…and Andromeda…”  
  
Hermione found herself hesitating. She wasn’t sure how much she should disclose about Andromeda, especially since the woman hadn’t explicitly expressed an interest in reconnecting with her estranged relatives.  
  
He nodded as if he understood the reason for her hesitation.  
  
“Siblings.” Draco rolled the word over his tongue like he was tasting it. His voice was velvety and low, he was speaking so softly she wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself.  
  
“Did you ever want siblings?” The question slipped out before she could stifle it.  
  
“No,” he said immediately before looking over at her. “I wasn’t very good at sharing, as you might imagine.”  
  
Hermione couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.  
  
“Was that a joke, Malfoy?”  
  
His grin faltered slightly and he frowned slightly at her. She fidgeted awkwardly with her wine glass and readjusted herself. Honestly, he was moodier than Ginny.  
  
“I had always thought that siblings were a sign of deficiency in a bloodline. Something my father impressed upon me to cover for his family’s inadequacies. Many of my ideas about being a wizard were built on the fragility of that man’s ego.” His nose wrinkled as if mentioning his father had put a bad taste in his mouth.  
  
It was more than he had ever disclosed to her. That was something, she supposed.  
  
“You don’t have any siblings, Granger.”  
  
She eyed him suspiciously.  
  
“No. I don’t.”  
  
“Did you need them?”  
  
She worried her lip under her teeth.  
  
“Well, no,” She conceded, as she looked across the room at Harry and Ginny. “But maybe it would’ve been nice to have someone to take care of.”  
  
“Or care for you.” He added. He tilted his head down and raised his eyebrow. “So eager.”  
  
She felt a shiver drop down her spine as she stared back at him. There was that strange pull again. Yes, he was attractive. That was undeniable. Her eyes flicked to his lips.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Alright, Hermione? Draco?”  
  
Malfoy blinked, and the moment was gone. She turned dizzily to look up at Theo, who was holding a Muggle beer and eyeing his best friend warily.  
  
“Theo! How are you doing? Come and sit with us.” Hermione motioned to a nearby seat and he took it with a grateful smile.  
  
“I must say that this is quite different to my typical Christmas dinner.”  
  
“I can only imagine.” Hermione replied with a smile. “Have you opened a Christmas cracker yet? George stuffs them with his experiments, so you really should exercise a measure of caution.”  
  
“Noted,” Theo replied seriously before turning his attention to the quiet member of the group. “Draco, couldn’t make it 20 minutes without making a child cry?”  
  
“Kids cry all the time,” Draco mumbled childishly.  
  
“Oh, Draco Malfoy.” Draco’s head whipped around at the new person who had drifted over.  
  
“Loo-Luna,” Draco fumbled over his words. “Happy Christmas.”  
  
Hermione almost smiled. Clearly, the man was still terrified of the rather diminutive witch. Even before her imprisonment at Malfoy Manor, Luna had struck people as odd. It was hard for Hermione to remember how much the girl had unnerved even her. Now she knew Luna as one of her closest friends and an incredibly resilient person.  
  
“Happy Christmas, Draco. I hope your mother is doing well.” Luna turned her lamp-like eyes over to the other man. “You…”  
  
“Theodore. Theo. Theo Nott,” Theodore stood up abruptly as Luna found her way over to sit between Hermione and Draco, who looked like he wanted to crawl out of his skin. He hesitated. "We were just talking about the Wrackspurt infestation...a moment ago."  
  
Hermione shook her head slightly and tried to contain a laugh. Really, Luna had a unique effect on people. Some deeply sadistic part of her enjoyed seeing the two Pureblood men so clearly out of their element.  
  
“You work with Hermione.” Luna chimed. Her long, blond hair was loose down her back. She was fiddling with a necklace made of charmed, bluebell flames. The flames licked affectionately at her fingers.  
  
“Yes,” Theo patted his hair down, and Hermione’s grin widened at the display of nerves. “Hermione and I are going to be working together in the New Year.”  
  
“Luna, aren’t you stationed in the Forbidden Forest still?” Hermione nudged.  
  
“Yes,” Luna answered shortly, still looking at Theo. “Your eyes.”  
  
“M-my eyes?”  
  
“Yes.” She finished simply. “I’ve seen them.”  
  
Theo looked at Hermione, who shrugged with a smile.  
  
“Luna-“ Hermione started.  
  
“I’ve been quite entertained in the Forest,” Luna began to speak in her airy voice. “Still, my father has told me that it is important to stay connected with the living.”  
  
“What?” Draco barked, and Hermione saw a glimpse of the boy who had been afraid of going into the Forbidden Forest. How was he able to do his job with this level of jumpiness?  
  
“Yes, the living.” Luna smiled and patted Draco’s thigh reassuringly. Draco’s already pale skin whitened a little further.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lovegood, but do you also work for the Ministry?” Theo interrupted.  
  
“Oh,” Luna responded thoughtfully. “It depends on what I find.”  
  
Hermione beamed at her friend.  
  
“Luna is an Unspeakable.”  
  
“Really?” Theo turned to look at Luna with obvious interest and admiration.  
  
“Ah, yes,” Luna tilted her head curiously. “Those eyes. I’ve seen them.”  
  
Theo blushed.  
  
“I apologize. I don’t mean to-“ He tried to reassure her, but Luna was smiling again.  
  
“Ginny wants me to talk to the garden gnomes. I learned some negotiation strategies while working with some doxies that I’d like to try. Want to come?”  
  
“But it’s dark out,” Draco said.  
  
Hermione coughed awkwardly, recognizing Luna’s moves for what they were. Really, she wasn’t being nearly as obtuse as usual.  
  
“It is dark, but I find that some of my most productive work occurs under the cover of the stars.” Luna stood and held her hand out to Theo. “Do you mind the dark?”  
  
Theo’s mouth dropped open a bit, and, entranced, he threaded his palm into hers.  
  
Hermione watched the two wander across the room and out to the back before snuggling herself deeper into the cushions and taking a satisfied sip of her wine.  
  
“Garden gnomes are diurnal,” Draco stated to the two empty seats.  
  
“Yes,” Hermione smiled at him like he was a particularly dull quill. “But, Luna is most definitely nocturnal.”  
  
Draco choked on his drink as realization found him.  
  
“Are they-“ He coughed. “Outside? Really-“  
  
“Really,” Hermione felt a bit smug as she usually did when she had a one-up on Malfoy.  
  
“But they just met.”  
  
“Not all witches require a proposal or an arranged marriage.”  
  
“I’m not saying-“  
  
“Luna takes a rather progressive view on her relationships.” Hermione continued, watching Malfoy process this new information. “Honestly, I applaud her.”  
  
“I see.” Draco seemed to have run out of words. He opened and closed his mouth. Then he stood up, nodded slightly toward Hermione and wandered off to another part of the room.  
  
Hermione stared at his back in disbelief before taking another sip of wine. Was that not an appropriate topic of conversation in Pureblood circles?  
  
She supposed she should go close the curtains. She was proud of Luna for being so proactive about meeting her personal needs, but Hermione didn’t really want to know anything specific about how she went about getting her needs met.  
  
But by the time she’d stood up and headed over towards the large windows, she found them already pulled closed and a rather flushed Draco Malfoy trying to explain to Molly that he really loved the pattern and wanted to see how they looked in full use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly late update. More weather phenomena. Next chapter will be longer!


	10. Chapter 10

The _Burrow_

_The Weasleys don't throw short parties._

 

 

Draco now knew that there was something wrong with him. Beyond the usual, anyway.

 

He’d been dealing with his mild attraction to Granger by ignoring it. He was losing that battle.

 

What had been a muted fascination within the Ministry walls had slowly morphed into something else entirely. It had snuck up on him so slowly he couldn’t pinpoint the moment when everything had gone pear-shaped.

 

Tonight was just another wobbly step down that slippery slope. Something about seeing her swallowed up in that abomination of a jumper and rosy-cheeked from the warmth of the fire lit something in him. Then she had called him by his first name and he’d reacted like a Fourth Year at the Yule Ball. He’d actually felt himself get slightly hard when she started talking about Luna Lovegood and Theo hooking up in a garden—something that should have been objectively horrifying. It was unnerving that Granger had this effect on him, but she had always been a singular witch. And he’d always been singularly fucked up.

 

Draco’s celibacy was a sentence he had self-imposed soon after the end of the War. Though there wasn’t a shortage of witches looking for a night with the infamous Draco Malfoy, it was a clear risk that he couldn’t afford to take if he ever wanted to earn back a respectable place in society.

 

Even without an actual scandal to point to, speculation ran wild about his relationships, sexual proclivities —even his orientation.

 

He could have dated in the Muggle world but found himself ill-equipped to manage how they dated. The ritualistic exchange of sequences of numbers had, at first, seemed somewhat practical, but he had never had an affinity for Arithmancy.

 

The first year without sex had been...frustrating, but the Mark burned into his forearm helped to remind him not to give in to youthful impulse. Going back to Hogwarts for his final year was especially torturous since the Eighth Years weren’t supervised well and had so much angst to work out of their systems. Somewhere into the second year of not getting any, blessed numbness had taken him.

 

Unfortunately, that apathy seemed to be wearing off.

 

He’d originally attributed it to his reintroduction to Magical Britain after years on isolated missions. Of course, that was a lie. Everything seemed as dull and predictable as ever. It wasn’t until he found himself frustrated after a disappointing trip to Flourish and Blotts that he realized what he was doing.

 

He found himself looking for her in crowds. He replayed their limited conversations in his mind. He wondered what she and Theo were talking about in his—their—office.

 

He’d even slowly adjusted to the idea of her dating Theo. The sadistic side of him reveled in the karmic justice of it. Theo deserved a good partner. A man who hadn’t dabbled in genocide. Hadn’t watched Granger twisted and carved up on the floor of his family home.

 

And then Theo had gone and ruined that with Lovegood of all people.

 

It hadn’t crossed his mind that Theo might not be attracted to Hermione Granger. That in itself spoke to how far gone Draco was.

 

Still, Theo was much further gone for Luna Lovegood, of all people.

 

Draco knew he was staring across the Weasley family’s magically extended dinner table. His mother would have been ashamed. Then again, he already had amassed such a long list that poor dinner etiquette hardly seemed noteworthy.

 

Theo was fixated on the woman next to him like she held the secret to eternal life. All she’d done was mumble on about another one of her imaginary creatures for the last five minutes. She could have been talking to anyone.

 

“She’s not indifferent.”

 

Draco jumped slightly as he realized he was no longer sitting next to a moderately inebriated ginger man. Charlie Weasley had obviously taken his Quidditch talk to greener pastures. Draco had admittedly been a shit dinner companion for the last half hour.

 

“I don’t know what—“

 

“Please,” Granger rolled her lashed eyes. “You almost bit my head off not two weeks ago about dating Theo.”

 

“I did not.”

 

Instead of the irritated retort he expected, she simply smiled and shook her head in disbelief.

 

“She doesn’t see the world like the rest of us, but she cares deeply about people. Theo would be well taken care of.”

 

“He’s not a Pygmypuff.”

 

“Then maybe you should stop treating him like one.”

 

He peeled his eyes away from the odd courtship in front of him to look at Granger, but she was busily spearing bits of salad on her fork. There was a small, teasing smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

 

Lips that were soft and full.

 

He turned his attention to his own plate, which was increasingly looking like a hen had been pecking at it.

 

“Trust me. She would be good for him,” Hermione said softly with a reassuring smile.

 

“What about you?” Draco muttered gruffly, unable to meet the sincerity in her eyes.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Where’s your pet project this holiday season? Thought he never missed a meal.”

 

He glanced over at her to find that he’d struck a sour chord. Her cheeks flushed a bit, and her mouth puckered in a grimace. She sighed, which only served to remind him that he was developing an unfortunate affinity for her.

 

“He wasn’t a project. We’ve been broken up for a while now.”

 

“Why is he missing this giant meeting of Weasleys? Don’t tell me you got his whole family in the break-up.”

 

“I don’t know.” She bit her lip.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I mean, I don’t know. It’s none of my business what Ron is doing.”

 

Draco felt a stab of something unpleasant at hearing the poorly disguised sadness in her voice. Really, Ron Weasley had always been an ungrateful slob, so he was having trouble empathizing with Granger on that particular loss. He did, however, realize that continuing by insulting Weasel King probably wasn’t going to go over well.

 

“We are sitting in a room full of people that would be delighted if you got back together with their prodigal son.”

 

“Ron is not a prodigal son,” Hermione paused and looked over at Draco thoughtfully. “I thought that was a Muggle saying. It’s based on a Muggle parable.”

 

Draco shrugged.

 

“Fuck, if I know. Potter couldn’t explain it.”

 

She groaned, which caused him to straighten in his seat. Did she even know what that sounded like?

 

“Harry really shouldn’t be the arbiter of Muggle culture. His horrid family raised him in a cupboard, you know.”

 

“I feel like I read that in _Witch Weekly_.”

 

“You read that _trash_?”

 

She looked at him incredulously before bursting into laughter.

 

Draco felt his ears burn, and he immediately tried to go in for damage control.

 

“Of course not. It’s just sometimes they are lying around.”

 

“I didn’t realize _Witch Weekly_ had such a large following in the Black Forest. Or in Hoia Baciu.” She was still giggling at him.

 

“Have you been following my career, Granger?”

 

This time, she was the one caught off guard. Her eyes widened, and he could see the flecks of deep blue dancing in the chocolate brown of her irises. The blush in her cheeks darkened appealingly, and he smiled in response. Draco felt warmth spread through his chest.

 

It really was Christmas.

 

“What? Of course not.”

 

“Not many people know I was posted in Transylvania.”

 

He allowed the silence to carry for a long moment before giving her an out. He was feeling generous now, and he didn’t want to be the one to spoil the moment.

 

“You let me believe that Lovegood was going to do something illicit with Theo,” He sipped his beer nonchalantly. “But they can’t have done much more than snogging.”

 

“I’m not responsible for what your mind conjures up,” Hermione offered with a cheeky grin. “Honestly the look on your face. I never took you for a prude.”

 

“Coming from you, that _is_ a damning insult,” Draco responded mockingly.

 

“I can’t believe you thought that Luna would drag a man off for a quickie at Molly Weasley’s house.”

 

“How am I supposed to know the rules of this house. They got this many children for a reason.” Draco smirked again. “And now that I think about it, you have firsthand experience with that. Wasn’t it you and your Weasley getting caught around Hogwarts our final year?”

 

“Oh!” Granger gasped, scandalized. “I can’t believe you would bring that up. That was almost 5 years ago.”

 

“It’s hard to forget rumors about the Golden Girl.”

 

“Now that you mention it. I don’t remember hearing almost anything about you that year.”

 

“I was an absolute model Eighth Year.” He drawled. “No youthful indiscretions here.”

 

She hummed suspiciously.  
  
“I suppose that must be true. You are far too distinctive to have not been spotted.”

 

“Yes. That’s what they say about Malfoys. Distinctive.” Draco grimaced at the memories of that final year, which consisted of a lot of whispered insults and prying eyes. It beat the nightmares that were Sixth and Seventh Year, of course.

 

“I just meant—” Hermione’s tone softened.

 

“I know what you meant.” He cut her off with what he hoped was a reassuring look.

 

She bit her lip again, and he lost track of what they were talking about.

 

“Oh! The time.” Hermione suddenly looked over at the clock on the wall. It read midnight.

 

Fuck, when had it gotten so late. The dinner table was almost entirely empty. George and Harry were talking in quiet tones over almost empty bottles, and Arthur Weasley was fussing with some of his gadgets on the far side of the table. Draco immediately stood up, realizing he’d longer overstayed his welcome. Theo and Luna had disappeared again, but Draco was only slightly concerned.

 

“I should-“ Draco and Hermione both started at the same time.

 

“Hermione! Are you leaving so soon?” Molly Weasley wandered over. “Ginny already went up. She was a bit tired.”

 

“Of course—“ Hermione started.

 

“I could have an extra room done up for you if you’d like to stay over.”

 

“Oh no, I couldn’t, Molly.” Hermione sounded pained, and Draco noticed the resignation in the older woman’s face.

 

“You know you’re always welcome to stay here. Even after…everything.”

 

“Thank you, Molly.” Hermione took the other woman’s hands in her in a comforting gesture. “For everything.”

 

“Well, if you are heading home, I’ll have George take you.” Molly continued. “We really should have your new place connected to the Burrow. Your flat is in Sloane Square, isn’t it? I can ask Arthur about registering it in the morning.”

 

“Of course, but I’ll be fine for tonight.”

 

“Don’t even try it,” Molly replied sternly.

 

Hermione opened her mouth, clearly prepared to argue, but Draco inserted himself smoothly.

 

“Actually, Mrs. Weasley,” he smiled charmingly at the older woman. “By coincidence, I am staying nearby. I would be happy to escort Hermione home.”

 

Molly turned her motherly gaze to the young man standing in front of her.

 

“I don’t—“

 

“Mum! Let Draco take her home!” George shouted across the table rudely. “I’m going to pass out any moment here. I’m knackered!”

 

“George Weasley! Control your volume!” Molly hissed at her son. “Your baby sister is trying to sleep upstairs.”

 

“Trying?! I can hear her snoring from here!”

 

“Oooooh!” Molly shook her finger in his direction. “How many of those Muggle beers did you have? Where did Harry go?”

 

“Molly,” Hermione said gently. “Draco can take me home. I’ll owl you tomorrow.”

 

“Oh! Fine, dear. Happy Christmas!” Molly agreed, now preoccupied with her grown child.

 

Molly kissed Hermione on the cheek, nodded at Draco and turned to quietly berate her son to get himself to bed before he had the entire house in an uproar.

 

Draco took a deep, calming breath as he realized that he was, for the first time in his life, walking a girl home. She turned to him and looked up into his eyes.

 

“So?”

 

“So?” He repeated dumbly.

 

“The Apparition point is down the hill. Shall we?” She pulled on her overcoat. He summoned his own to his hand and put it on. It was stifling.

 

“Oh, um, yes.” He fumbled to open the door leading out into the winter night.

 

“I didn’t know you were in London,” Hermione remarked as they stumbled down the icy path away from the Burrow.

 

“Yes, um, Belgravia. Family property.”

 

“So we are neighbors then?”

 

“Yes, neighbors.” His head was spinning. Sloane Square was a stone’s throw from his place. They probably shared the same Apparition Point.

 

“Then maybe you can walk me home?” She nudged him playfully, and Draco’s heart skipped. He looked over at her. Even in the dim light, her eyes were sparkling and he could see the white puffs of her rapid breathing escape into the night air.

 

_What was happening? Was this happening?_

 

“I can walk you home. _”_ He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Was she nocturnal too? “Granger, are—are you sure?”

 

“Sure that you can walk me home? That’s what good neighbors do, isn’t it?”

 

She paused in her walking and the smile on her face dropped slightly in confusion.

 

He released a shaky breath. Of course, she meant just walking. This was Granger. Fuck, his mind was getting away from him.

 

“No, yes. I’ll walk you home, Granger.” Her smile returned, and he felt a painful jerk in his chest. “We can be good neighbors.”

 

“Call me Hermione. I like that better.”

 

“Ok,” He paused as they reached the bottom of the hill. “Hermione, then.”

 

Using the little courage he had, Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her close. She was warmth, softness and a thousand things he didn’t deserve. He breathed in her scent deeply before whisking them away with a crack.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for my absence. The school year started, and I've been a mess. 
> 
> Update schedule will not be resumed immediately, but I will aim for a weekly update.

_Saturday, December 28, 2002_

_Hermione’s flat_

_Sloane Square_

_London_

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

Hermione wasn’t sure what switch had been flipped in the universe, but it seemed like the world had turned in Malfoy’s favor.

 

The morning after he walked her home, he was featured prominently on the front of The Prophet under the ominous headline: “Malfoy Heir Returns.”

 

The paper had nothing better to do than stir up public intrigue during the holidays. She’d read through the article, as she sipped her morning tea with Pepper-Up Potion.

 

The accompanying photos demonstrated what ended up being the central message of the entire feature—Draco Malfoy was a changed man.

 

The first photo was from his Wizengamot trial, as he had been escorted from the court. Hermione’s stomach dropped as she remembered the day. She had had to testify regarding the incident at Malfoy Manor, mainly that Draco had been in an acknowledged double agent position and, therefore, unable to render aid that would expose him.

 

He had been silent to the point of eliciting questions regarding his mental state. His jaw resolutely locked when asked to recount his actions during the War. She remembered the fury in his eyes and his silent refusal to cow to the interrogation committee. At the time, the press had torn him apart.

 

She had supposed at the time that if the pressure of thousands of years of blood supremacy and his father’s condemnation hadn’t moved the man, a bunch of jumped up, old bureaucrats wouldn’t stand a chance.

 

The remaining members of the Order testified for him, which only increased the attention placed on the trial.

 

Hermione would have described it as a witch hunt for lack of a better term.

 

The evidence was indisputable, and no shouting from a vengeful public changed that.

 

Now, it seemed he had been redeemed.

 

The second photo, taken recently, was where it got mildly interesting. Being from the Muggle world, Hermione found Wizarding propaganda a tad irritating.

 

Malfoy looked like a political candidate. Someone had charmed the picture so that the light emphasized his jawline and shoulder.His eyes, rendered in black and white, stared into the distance, his chin held confidently in the air.

 

Really, did people fall for this nonsense? Maybe he was running for office. It would explain why he was returning to London.

 

But that didn’t quite fit either, Hermione thought to herself. He seemed to disparage public opinion as much as he had during his family’s trials.

 

It was a calculated move, but with no clear motive.

 

So the question was “Why?”

 

Why was he suddenly being so publicly shoehorned back into Wizarding Britain?

 

In any case, it didn’t change the fact that Draco Malfoy was here to stay.

 

They were now near-neighbors.

 

He walked her home last night.

 

Hermione scrunched her nose up at her wandering thoughts. She’d been more inebriated than she thought. Most of their walk back had seemed like a distant, fuzzy dream.

 

He’d insulted Ron. Typical.

 

Then she hugged him…?

 

And he’d Apparated her back to her place and left without a word.

 

Honestly, she should feel mortified, but she’d always been a bit of a friendly drunk, and if Malfoy was going to be hanging around for any stretch of time, he’d see that side of her sooner or later.

 

Nothing to be done about it. Except perhaps to send a Howler to Ginny about whatever had been spiked or over-served.

 

She shook her head, trying to disperse her ridiculous thoughts. Hermione wasn’t a proponent of daydreaming, even during work holidays.

 

The Hogwarts project was starting soon. She needed as much time as possible to prepare.

 

They had estimated that the collection part pf the process could be managed within the next few months. It involved clearing each artifacts with Curse Breakers before arranging for transport back to the Archives.

 

Originally Theo was tasked to stay at the Ministry, but now that Luna had taken a shine to him, and vice-versa, perhaps he’d want to spend more time in Scotland?

 

She knew it was ridiculous to presume that the dalliance would blossom into a full-fledged relationship, but she was in possession of a mind that enjoyed examining all variables.

 

As long as Hermione had her hands on artifacts from the Hogwarts vaults, she was a happy woman. It didn’t matter where her office was located since she tended to become deeply immersed in her projects.

 

Then again, if Malfoy was back, maybe Theo would want to spend more time in London.

 

Hermione’s forehead furrowed in frustration when an obvious answer didn’t present itself. She ran her fingers through her hair, grumbling to herself. It wasn’t likely that Theo would already know where he wanted to work, and she was following his lead.

 

Most likely they wouldn’t touch base again until the new year. The Ministry had quieted down as everyone went home to spend time with loved ones. 

 

Hermione didn’t handle work holidays well.

 

She’d come a long way from her first year at Hogwarts, but she still preferred to have all of her ducks in well-managed rows.

 

Huffing again, Hermione tried to redirect herself to a problem she could manage. She grabbed the notepad on her table and a pen, hoping that a problem would present itself.

 

A tapping at the window was, briefly, a welcome distraction until Ginny’s scratchy handwriting appeared on the page.

 

 

 

_Smoking Wand. Now._

_You harlot._

_~G_

 

 

 

Hermione frowned at the note, trying to remember what she’d done. Nothing came to mind.

 

Perhaps Ginny was just in a mood. The woman could make anything seem salacious—a skill that would have been considered worrisome in a person of lesser character. She could’ve had an illustrious career spinning stories at Witch Weekly in another life.

 

Speaking of. Maybe said rag had published another rumor about whose bed Hermione had been warming. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time, surely.

 

Her bed, as it was, had seen better days. She’d Scourgified cobwebs off of the underside not two days before in a fit of boredom.

 

Maybe if she was stationed at Hogwarts, she might have time to socialize in Hogsmeade. Maybe Luna could take her out. Better Luna than Ginny any day. Ginny was a horrible judge of what Hermione would find attractive in a wizard.

 

Hermione sighed as she grabbed her scarf and wound it around her neck. She did need to eat, in any case.

 

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

 

_The Smoking Wand_

Saturday, December 28, 2002

 

 

“Soooooo...”

 

Hermione looked across the booth at Ginny, who was waggling her eyebrows at her. She hadn’t even had a chance to order, but Ginny pushed a pint of Butterbeer across the table.

 

“What?”

 

“What do you mean, ‘What’?”

 

Hermione huffed and took an extended sip of the fizzy drink. Ginny looked like the cat who’d gotten the canary cream.

 

“I ordered a pie.” Ginny pointed out.

 

“This is about Christmas,” Hermione muttered.

 

“Oh, so you _do_ know.” Ginny teased.

 

“I know how you think.” Hermione retorted. “Even if you’re completely off the mark, which you _are_.”

 

“I don’t know,” Ginny continued. “Mum was in a foul mood the next morning. The last time she was that irritated, Bill had brought Fleur home for the first time.”

 

“That’s ridiculous. Molly was fine when I left.”

 

“Well she certainly wasn’t fine the next morning,” Ginny grinned. “She reckons Draco’s seducing you to improve his public image.”

 

“She—What?”

 

They both stopped as the barkeep brought over a steaming Shepherd’s pie and a fistful of silverware.

 

“I’m sure she’s already sent an owl to Ron about it.”

 

“Well that’s nonsense,” Hermione scoffed and took another sip.

 

“The part about improving his image, definitely,” Ginny stuffed a forkful of peas and mash into her mouth. “But the seducing part…”

 

“That man is more thorn than rose.” Somehow the confident tone Hermione had pictured in her head didn’t carry in her voice.

 

“Almost as thorny as you.” Ginny laughed and pointed her finger at Hermione, who immediately tried to swat it away. “Draco Malfoy is sex poured into dragon hide boots. We’ve spoken about this.”

 

“You are terrible.” Hermione shot back. “Just because he’s—“

 

“Objectively the hottest single man in Britain.”

 

“—somewhat pleasing to the eye, doesn’t make him—“

 

“A mistake that many women would gladly make.”

 

“And I’m sure many do.”

 

The Cheshire Cat grin on Ginny’s face faded, and she looked hesitant.

 

“He’s not a bad person. He’s actually could be quite a good person,” Ginny started. “But he’s never had a relationship as long as I’ve known him.”

 

“What, you mean?”

 

“Actually, I haven’t seen or heard of him being with anyone. Even casually. For as long as we’ve worked together.”

 

“Well, that’s hardly your business.”

 

“And yet.” Ginny gestured to herself. “I _know_ know.”

 

“Well, that’s…” Hermione sat back In her chair in shock. “Unexpected.”

 

“He’s been shutting himself off from the people around him for a long time.”

 

“But you and Harry—”

 

“Work colleagues. Now friends, yes. But honestly, we don’t know much about him. I’m sure Theo knows loads, but the man really keeps a tight lid on everything.”

 

Hermione’s forehead creased as she considered this new information.

 

“So why do you think he’s a mistake?”

 

“He’s not a mistake, just…it would probably be a mistake to get involved with him.” Ginny paused again to take in Hermione’s expression. “I mean, I was partially joking, but did something really happen between you two?“

 

“What? Us?” Hermione shook her head vigorously and forced her lips to form a smile. “No, not at all. It just seems like we will be becoming friends whether we want to or not.”

 

Hermione pushed the fork around in the pie awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

 

“Mhmm,” Ginny hummed with a raised eyebrow. “We do know one thing after this Christmas.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Hermione felt relieved at Ginny exercising tact and shifting the conversation--a rare occurrence.

 

“Mum is a nightmare mother-in-law.”

 

“Ginny!”

 

“What?” Ginny scooped another bite into her mouth and grinned.

 

“We already knew that.” Hermione grinned back. "I've been terrified ever since Bill brought Fleur to the Burrow."

 

"You _are_ the brightest witch of our age." 

 

They both dissolved into giggles.

 

“Poor Fleur.” Hermione squeezed out as she tried to get her giggles under control.

 

“That was a near miss for you.” Ginny agreed, wiping the tears from her eyes.

 

“Sounds about right,” Hermione agreed, meaning it this time. She frowned slightly as she picked at the remains of the pie.

 

“What’s that for?” Ginny asked, gesturing at Hermione’s face with a napkin.

 

“Oh, nothing, just work stuff.”

 

“Would you look at this?” Ginny sighed heavily as she looked down at the fabric stretched over her belly. There was a little patch of oil, no doubt left by a wayward speck of lamb.

 

“Hermione, could you? My magic’s been a bit off lately...”

 

“Say no more.” Hermione smiled as she Scourgified the spot away.

 

“Thanks.” Ginny stretched the fabric up to examine it. “I vanished the sofa yesterday by accident. You know the one. I’d been trying to clean it again.”

 

“I’m sure you weren’t too put out.”

 

Hermione knew the one. Raggedy old thing that had seen too much.

 

“Ugly, old thing, wasn’t it?”

 

“Out with the old, in with the new,” Hermione replied in agreement. “Do you think you’re ‘nesting’?”

 

“What, like an Occamy?” Ginny sounded offended but quickly grinned. “Do you want to help me pick a new sofa?”

 

The two women met eyes and burst into laughter again.

 

“Not going to try to recover the other one?”

 

“I already told Harry. I think he’s more relieved than I am that the old one’s gone.”

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

December 28, 2002

 

_Whitehall, London_

_Ministry of Magic_

_Auror Department_

 

 

“What is it,” Draco said, as he heard the heavy door slide open then shut.

 

Draco glanced up briefly to see his best friend exploring the new office. He scowled before returning the line of text he’d been reading over unsuccessfully for the past ten minutes.

 

“Working during the holidays. Bit pedestrian for you, isn’t it?”

 

Theo was staring at an ostentatious display of hand-selected whiskeys on a side cabinet. Belby had demonstrated a surprisingly detailed knowledge of distilleries—one of his best qualities so far, in Draco’s opinion.

 

Draco grunted noncommittally in response. His new seat of power was an office that had been designed to intimidate and impress. It seemed to be doing its job.

 

Theo hummed slightly as he wandered around the room, occasionally stopping to look at the portraits on the walls.

 

“No sneakoscopes?”

 

“I’m not Moody.”

 

“I think we all know you’re a bit moody.”

 

Draco could hear the smile in Theo’s voice. He stifled a groan.

 

“What do you need, Theo? I’m actually busy—.”

 

“For once.” Theo teased with another grin.

 

“Are you going to be this insufferable as long as you are dating,” Draco replied testily. “I might find a way to move the Head Auror’s office out of the Ministry. I’m sure there’s precedence somewhere in here.”

 

Draco was currently invested in an unpleasantly thick tome of Auror policies and guidelines. It was dreadful, dull and everything he’d been brought up to disdain. He was determined to read through all of it.

 

“What I need,” Theo stopped in front of Draco’s desk, forcing the man to look up from his extensive reading. “Is to talk to my best mate.”

 

Draco scowled at the phrase. Love made people into idiots, clearly.

 

“This is about Lovegood.”

 

“Luna,” Theo corrected. “And, yes.”

 

Draco leaned back and ran his hands through his hair.

 

“That was fast.”

 

“What?”

 

“You and Luna.”

 

“Nothing’s really happened yet.”

 

“You are practically buzzing. It’s unbecoming for a man of your station.”

 

“I don’t know what you are referring to—“.

 

“I have reports of you _humming_ in the halls.”

 

“From who, the Ministry is deserted,” Theo teased with an uncharacteristic grin.

 

“Head Auror,” Draco replied. “What do you mean ‘nothing’s happened yet’? As I understand it, the two of you managed to make some headway in the Weasleys’ bushes.”

 

Draco grimaced at the unintended double entendre. Theo had the decency to blush at this point. Draco smirked at his victory.

 

“Well,” Theo coughed awkwardly. “Nothing substantial has happened...yet.”

 

“Out with it.”

 

“I wanted to ask her out.”

 

“...And?”

 

“Well, I wanted to ask her to—“

 

“The ball,” Draco sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Seems a bit conventional for her tastes.”

 

“She’s a war hero.”

 

Draco winced at the memory of why the woman had received an Order of Merlin, Second Class.

 

“Now would be a good time for you to drop the pompous Pureblood act.” Theo remarked with his singular perception. “It’s going to get you nowhere.”

 

Draco fought that sliver of his consciousness that wanted to immediately lash out at Theo. One of these days, he was going to lose against that itch, but he knew teasing the man’s only romantic interest ever would mean losing Theo.

 

Theo picked a speck of lint off of his robes and flicked it at the floor.

 

“So we are going to have to find you a date, is what I’m saying.”

 

That pulled Draco out of his head.

 

“What?”

 

“And I think you could ask Hermione, and she’d say ‘Yes.’”

 

“No.”

 

“What do you mean—“

 

“No.”

 

Draco felt his arm reach out robotically to pull the tome towards himself. The ancient leather cover dragged awkwardly across the desktop.

 

“What’d you do,” Theo sighed, and Draco clenched his jaw shut.

 

“Nothing.”

 

“Should I not ask Luna?”

 

“No,” Draco replied, burying the shard of bitterness that was now pulling at his tongue, tempting him to say anything to get the focus off of things he’d rather not think about. “I’ll figure something out.”

 

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

December 26, 2002

 

_Eaton Square Gardens, Belgravia, London_

_Sometime after midnight_

 

 

 

“So…” Hermione turned to look at her companion.

 

Draco inclined his head to look down at her, and Hermione felt her tongue stick in her mouth. They’d been walking along Eaton Square Gardens towards Hermione’s flat in complete silence.

 

She tried and failed to imagine how Draco Malfoy fit into the fabric of Muggle London. For all she knew, he never left his apartment except by Floo, but walking beside him dispelled that thought. He seemed at home here, on the stone streets of this upscale district. His dragon hide boots cutting smart shapes into the freshly fallen snow coating the street.

 

It was strange, to be sure, that she would find herself being escorted home by Draco Malfoy on Christmas. It seemed, despite the excitement she’d experienced in her young life, there were still surprises in store for Hermione Granger.

 

For one, Hermione couldn’t shake the sensation of having the man’s arms around her. Draco had Apparated them to Victoria Station with more skill than she would have been capable of in her state. Day drinking was always a terrible idea, and today—technically, yesterday—had been a shining example of that truth. She wasn’t buzzed anymore, but she was completely drained.

 

What had she been thinking about again?

 

“So…” She tried to catch the thought that had been floating through her mind, but it had blown away in the winter air. Little clumps of snow were falling from the trees overhead. She giggled as some fell onto her hair and face.

 

“You are sloshed, Granger.”

 

“No.” She shook her head stubbornly, feeling the flecks of snow shake out of her hair.

 

“No?”

 

“I’m _exhausted_.”

 

He raised his eyebrow judgmentally, and Hermione rolled hers back at him. She turned down a side street, knowing that they were a few minutes away from her flat.

 

“So you’ve been living in London.” She stated. She almost reached out and pushed him when he just stared at her sardonically in response. The salt sprinkled across the road crunched under their boots.

 

“Is that an invitation to converse or an observation? If it is the latter, you are losing your touch.”

 

Hermione let out an audible groan.

 

“Honestly, you are the _most_ difficult man I have ever met in my life.”

 

“Now that can’t be true.” She could feel the smirk in his words without seeing his face.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I’ve met the men in your life.”

 

She looked up at that, a retort quick on her tongue.

 

“Don’t talk about Ron.”

 

He grunted in response. His brow furrowed and his breath rising in clouds in the night air.

 

They lapsed into silence once more.

 

“Why do you hate him so much?”

 

“Who?”

 

Hermione glared over at him, stubbornly setting her feet in the ground. He made it a few steps forwards before turning back to look at her, the corner of his mouth tipped upwards in a small grin.

 

“Seriously,” she continued. “You’ve always fixated on him.”

 

“That’s not true. I feel like my attentions were equally divided between the three of you.”

 

“ _Draco_.”

 

He grimaced like she had shouted at him. Hermione realized that she’d used his given name.

 

“I’m sorry. It’s just that Ginny and Harry don’t call you ‘Malfoy’ anymore.”

 

“It’s fine.” He didn’t look fine. He looked bothered.

 

“Look, I know we don’t get along.” She looked over to see that he had fixed his face into an emotionless mask. She felt frustration flare in her chest, but she tried to keep her temper. “I know you don’t think so, but I am capable of change.”

 

“I don’t know to what you are referring—.” He was closing himself off rapidly, and Hermione felt herself try to grasp at any edge that would hold their tenuous truce.

 

“You said that I don’t change, and I’m trying to say I can—“

 

“You already called me Draco earlier this evening.”

 

She stopped, immediately trying to reach back into her memory of the night.

 

“Did I?”

 

Hermione didn’t realize he’d moved until he appeared right in front of her, close enough for her to have to tilt her head to look into his eyes.

 

He was quiet as he stared down at her. His face was as impassive as ever. She felt his eyes flick over her face, as if he were looking for something.

 

“Ronald Weasley was nothing to me. Inconsequential from his secondhand boots to the roots of his bloody hair. Until we arrived at Hogwarts.”

 

His breath was escaping into the cold, night air in deep, white puffs. Hermione’s heart was racing. She was trying to process what he was saying.

 

“But then why—“

 

“I was a spoiled brat. Coddled within an inch of my life and too eager to prove myself to the wrong people. I wasted the opportunities I had on pride, ignorance and blood purity. Weasley was...”

 

Hermione blinked rapidly, trying to catch up to what he was explaining.

 

“What?”

 

“Ungrateful.”

 

“Ungrateful.” Hermione was losing the threads of this conversation, distracted by their continued proximity and the troubling heat rushing to her face.

 

“It was one thing to admit to myself that I wanted what someone with nothing had. It was another to watch the idiot ruin the advantages he was given.”

 

“Ron didn’t ruin—“

 

“He left you,” Draco’s voice was soft and threaded with bitterness. “…you and Potter. There in the forest.”

 

“That’s not fair.”

 

“And he’s left you again.”

 

“And that’s why you hate him?”

 

“No…I mean, yes,” Draco took a deep breath and watched it vanish in the winter air. He blinked, and the intensity that had radiated from him a moment ago was quickly dissolving away. “It’s not rational, in any case. And it doesn’t matter.”

 

Draco shook his head, and turned to walk down the street. Hermione could see the streetlamp outside of her flat shining merrily on the street. Too close.

 

Hermione reached out to grasp his arm and pull him back. She meant to tell him that he was ok and that everything was going to be ok.

 

Her hands drifted up his arm to his shoulder, and she leaned up into him unconsciously. It wasn’t meant to be an embrace and then suddenly it was. Hermione felt hesitation in the lines of his body, but suddenly, like a dam breaking, he flowed into her. Hermione gasped as she was jerked forward into a tight embrace. A shiver shot down her spine when he pressed his face into her neck. She felt the world spin and then stop.

 

“Draco?” She whispered, not wanting to break the spell that been cast over them.

 

“I take two steps forward...”

 

He stepped backward and out of the hug.

 

“Happy Christmas, Granger.”

 

Looking into her dazed eyes, he nodded once, as if satisfied, turned on his heel and walked off into the night.

 

Hermione blinked once and he was gone. She turned around dizzily to find herself at the foot of the stairs to her flat. She hadn’t even noticed that he’d Apparated them to her doorstep.

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience, switching over to Hermione's POV soon...
> 
> Disclaimer: All of J.K. Rowling's characters, world, etc. belong to her brilliant mind. This fanfiction is simply borrowing them.  
> Non-canon after HBP. Draco flips during the War. After the War is over, all the kids go back to Hogwarts for one year. This story picks up 5 years after that.

Chapter 12

 

_Ministry of Magic_

_New Year Gala_

_December 31, 2002_

_Around 10:00 pm_

 

 

 

“You said you would figure it out.”

 

Theo looked out at the throngs of witches and wizards that had been mingling since the beginning of the gala. He threw a sidelong glance Draco who had arrived fashionably late, stone-faced and single.

 

“I did,” Draco responded. “I am perfectly able to attend a public event without accompaniment.”

 

“You haven’t read the news in the past week.” The exasperated tone in Theo’s voice irritated Draco almost as much as the robes Monsieur Fleuriste had sent to his flat that morning.

 

Draco fought against the urge to adjust his collar. His mother would be mildly scandalized to find that her only son attended a political event without a proper, formal necktie.

 

He wasn’t looking forward to that exchange.

 

“What?” Draco asked distractedly as he tugged on his sleeves.

 

“Have you seen the headlines on _The Prophet_?”

 

“It’s not like I’ve had time to renew my subscription.”

 

“You are going to regret that,” Theo intoned darkly.

 

“That’s a bit dramatic—“

 

Theo’s face, fixed in the indifferent mask he showed to the public, broke into a smile as he turned towards the woman coming to join their huddle.

 

“Theo,” Luna breathed out with a quiet smile. “Thank you for waiting.” She touched his face briefly before turning to look at Draco.

 

“Draco, you look...rather casual, actually,” She cocked her head to the side, considering him. “It’s nice to explore something new, isn’t it?”

 

Draco frowned more deeply. The last thing he needed was a fashion critique from a woman who probably thought basilisk fangs were an appropriate hair accessory.

 

“Quite sexy,” Luna mused with clinical detachment. Theo, the dolt, was actually nodding slightly in agreement.

 

“Fleuriste called it, ‘le désordre organisé’,” Draco muttered darkly with only the barest hint of petulance.

 

“Perhaps he should’ve called it ‘la petite mort,’” Luna responded as she gave him a once-over.

 

Theo choked on his champagne and coughed abruptly. Draco squeezed his eyes shut in mortification.

 

“Theo...Luna...” Draco managed to get out before turning and walking away from the terrible twosome.

 

“Was that a bit much?” Luna inquired softly, eyes following the retreating blonde.

 

Theo chuckled, still coughing, and shook his head.

 

“Nothing you should worry about.”

 

“You are also quite handsome,” Luna turned to look at Theo. “I particularly how the robes bring out the blue in your eyes.”

 

“Merlin, I hope I don’t get used to this,” Theo mumbled to himself, his cheeks stained pink.

 

“You are blushing, Theo.”

 

“That I am.” Theo reached out and grasped Luna’s hand. “How do you feel about dancing?”

 

Luna looked pensive as she allowed Theo to lead her out to the dance floor. The seafoam ruffles on her charmed gown happily blew a trail of enchanted bubbles out behind her.

 

“As far as social foreplay goes, I find it quite entertaining. Are you familiar with the courtship dance of the Occamy? It’s rather erotic, all things considered.”

 

Theo laughed out loud, but not in the nervous, agitated manner most men did around Luna Lovegood. It was a rich sound emanating from deep within his chest.

 

“I’m not sure I’ve ever considered an Occamy a sensual creature, but I suppose you can enlighten me.”

 

She smiled and closed her eyes as he pulled her closer to him and spun her into a waltz formation.

 

“They are quite entrancing, really,” she continued eagerly. “Despite their reputation.”

 

Luna paused and looked at the man holding her in his arms.

 

“Quite a lot of creatures with poor reputations are misunderstood, you see.”

 

Theo smiled broadly.

 

“Luna, did you just call me a creature?”

 

She tilted her head and regarded him with a curious look of her own.

 

“I suppose I was actually was referring to myself.”

 

There was that laughter again. Luna found herself smiling as Theo guided her around the dance floor.

 

“What were your talking to Draco about before?” Luna asked. “Was I interrupting?”

 

Theo grinned boyishly and shook his head.

 

“The headline this morning was ‘Malfoy Heir’s Lonely Road to Redemption,’” Theo shared. “It seems that someone at that rag thinks he’s quite the Byronic Hero.”

 

“But he likes Hermione.”

 

Theo’s eyes widened in shock before he let out a bark of laughter.

 

“Yes, but for everyone’s sake, don’t tell him that.”

 

 

_~ * ~_

 

 

Draco had no idea where he was going, but he was headed at a brisk pace. He didn’t need to get caught up in whatever Theo and Lovegood were working themselves up to.

 

“Lord Malfoy.”

 

A recognizable voice shook him from his thoughts.

 

Draco turned and dropped into a formal bow before the woman in front of him. He withheld a sigh.

 

“Lady Greengrass.”

 

“Let us dispense with the formalities, dear. Hyperia, please.” Hyperia Greengrass, current acting head of her family, was an unexpected but, in retrospect, quite fitting addition for a Ministry gala.

 

“Hyperia,” Draco acceded with a tilt of his head. He did not offer her the same familiarity, and she pursed her lips in mild dissatisfaction.

 

The Greengrasses had maintained a position of neutrality through all of Voldemort’s wars. An option available to the few sacred families lacking male heirs to give to Voldemort’s cause.

 

Lord Greengrass hadn’t been seen in public since shortly before the Second War. His exact whereabouts were currently unknown, but Draco had a gut feeling that the man had met the traditional end of those wedded to ambitious Pureblood matriarchs.

 

“It’s been some time since you’ve graced us with your presence,” she smiled coldly. “My girls have been distraught at your prolonged absence from our gatherings.”

 

Draco held back a grimace. Neither Greengrass daughters had particularly appealed to him in the manner their mother or his father had once hoped. At one point, there had been informal plans for him and one of the Greengrass daughters, but the Malfoys’ responsibilities to the Dark Lord had eclipsed all.

 

It seemed that the death of his father and the disgrace of his family hadn’t slowed preparations on her side.

 

It seemed to have sped them up, if the predatory gleam in her eyes were any indication.

 

Hyperia continued without acknowledging Draco’s silence.

 

“Astoria was loath to come unaccompanied, of course, but she will be delighted to hear that you have reappeared, and with such aplomb.” At this, the woman reached out a long-fingered hand to grasp his upper arm. “The article in _The Prophet_ was intriguing. You _have_ been busy.”

 

“Not at all, Lady Greengrass.” He noted the twitch of a faulty nerve near the woman’s eye at his method of address.

 

“Please tell your mother that I’ll be calling on her soon for a catch-up. It’s been dreadfully long since I’ve last seen her, and the girls always regarded her of something of a second mother.”

 

“Of course. Lovely to see you, Lady Greengrass,” he deadpanned with a short bow of his head. “If you’ll excuse me.”

 

Sometimes being the only Lord of his high-born House came with advantages—one being his ability to simply leave a conversation without a suitable excuse.

 

Draco exhaled a restrained sigh of relief when she didn’t pursue him further.

 

It seemed, though, that the night had more in store for him.

 

No fewer than ten women approached him over the course of the next hour. Each seemed intent on extracting information from him. _What were his interests? What was he doing back in London? Where was he staying? Did he fancy a quieter place to talk?_

 

A particularly enterprising young woman had tried to slip an amulet with a tracking charm into his pocket.

 

He’d transferred it swiftly into the robes of a passing wizard and wished her happy hunting.

 

When he wasn’t being dragged into another invasive conversation, Draco was aware that he was being stared at by more than one small group of witches and some men gathered around the edges of the ballroom. He tried, in vain, to catch Theo’s eye as the idiot twirled by with his date but quickly realized that no aid would be rendered.

 

After excusing himself from yet another dance, Draco contemplated simply leaving before the Minister’s address at midnight. An absurd though given the fact that he’d have to participate in the New Year address.

 

The Wizarding world had fundamentally changed, it seemed, within the span of a few years.

 

Perhaps the shortage of eligible young men in the post-War generation was more serious than he’d thought.

 

More importantly, he needed a copy of _The Prophet_.

 

He was lost in his thoughts when he almost ran headlong into a person balancing a small tower of petit fours on a plate.

 

“Oh my!”

 

He automatically reached his hands out to steady the wrists of the woman before him, and the jolt of recognition slide through him like a bolt of lightning.

 

He released her like his hands were on fire.

 

She had automatically begun setting things to rights without looking up to see who’d run into her.

 

Hermione laughed lightly to herself as she used her fingers to right the tiny cakes on her dish. “My fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so many.”

 

She nonchalantly dipped the sugared tips of her fingers between her lips to clean them.Draco’s mind stuttered to an alarming stop, as he looked down at her.

 

Hermione’s self-effacing laughter stopped in her throat as she looked up and realized to whom she was speaking.

 

The tip of her thumb was still stuck between her full lips, as she looked up at him in stunned silence.

 

He shook his head to clear the accompanying mental image.

 

She also seemed to come out of her trance and blushed furiously as she pulled the offending digit from her mouth.

 

“Granger.”

 

“Malfoy.”

 

“I’m surprised to see you at a Ministry event. Enjoying your night?” Hermione commented lightly, looking past his shoulder to a group of young ladies staring at the two war heroes and whispering behind their hands.

 

“Apparently there’s been some kind of article in the paper.”

 

“You made the front page. I’m surprised that you haven’t read it already.” Hermione bit her lip. “Though it wasn’t in _Witch Weekly_. I suppose that’s explanation enough.”

 

The woman was holding back a grin, and his lip curled in disdain.

 

“I don’t know what you are talking about. As usual.”

 

“Sure you don’t,” she teased.

 

The woman was absolutely maddening.

 

He growled and almost ran his fingers through his hair before he remembered he was at a public function and being photographed. His fingers froze at his hairline, and he returned them stiffly to his side. His eyes shifted over to check if any of the various reporters at the event had managed to snap a shot.

 

Hermione was giving him another look now. Her lips were pursed together and her eyes were bright. He realized that she was holding back a laugh and failing. The corners of her painted lips twitched upwards.

 

“Worried about your hair?” she squeezed out as she tried to adopt a neutral expression.

 

“Quit while you’re ahead.”

 

“Can’t mess up tonight,” she managed a mock whisper. “That could be the cover.“

 

“Don’t-“ he started.

 

“If you make Most Coveted Bachelor this year. It’ll be a new record.”

 

He glowered at her, completely unimpressed, and she.. burst into giggles. Actual giggles. She was a full-grown woman. A war hero at that.

 

“I don’t know-”

 

“You know what’s really going to clinch it for you this year,“ She made a gesture with her hand at his undone collar, and he bristled at the implication.

 

“It’s the latest fashion.” He snapped. “Not that you would know anything about it.”

 

She dissolved into peals of laughter again, and he actually felt the heat in his cheeks. Tears were forming at the edges of her lashes.

 

“Control yourself, Granger,” he hissed. She was borderline hysterical. This was the woman who people thought was going to be the next Minister of Magic.

 

“Oh! Oh no!” she was trying to stop the flow of tears now with the backs of her thumbs. “Ginny is going to murder me.”

 

He should leave.

 

“Evening, Draco,” Harry appeared almost at his elbow with a suspicious rosy hue on his cheeks. He smiled at Hermione who was now touching at the corners of her eyes, which were made up with some sort of cosmetic. “What’s got you going?”

 

“Oh no,” Hermione turned her face away, and Draco, all of a sudden, realized what she was wearing. She was wrapped in a figure-hugging white dress that sparked a twinge of recognition in the recesses of his mind. His eyes widened as he realized what had happened to the dresses that Ginny had picked up from the boutique.

 

“Hermione Granger!” Ginny Potter’s voice rang out like the crack of Apparition.

 

“Oh, shit,” Hermione hiccuped her last giggle and turned resignedly towards the sound of her friend’s voice.

 

Draco blinked dumbly, not completely absorbing the first curse he’d ever heard from Granger’s lips.

 

She looked. Well, she looked.

 

Fleuriste was a genius.

 

“Ahem,” Harry grunted.

 

Draco jumped a bit and realized that his head had tilted ever so slightly to the side in his descent down the lines of the deceptively simple gown. He looked up to meet a knowing look from Harry Potter, Boy Who Never Knew When to Mind His Own Fucking Business.

 

“You should have let me apply that Waterproofing charm.” Ginny could be heard scolding Hermione about her smudged make-up.

 

“And wear it into next week? I think not,” Hermione retorted. “I told you, I think it’s absurd to put this much effort into a work event. I still think a tailored pantsuit would be-“

 

“Don’t even think about transfiguring this gown. You look incredible.” Ginny nudged her husband, whose narrowed eyes were focused still on the blonde man in the group. “Doesn’t she look incredible, Harry?”

 

“You look incredible, ‘Mione,” Harry said automatically without breaking eye contact with the very pale man across from him.

 

“Draco?” Ginny demanded as she shot a satisfied smirk at Hermione.

 

“Um,” he stuttered, still meeting Potter’s eyes with somewhat masked apprehension.

 

“Ginny...really-“ Hermione started.

 

“Draco,” Ginny deadpanned.

 

“You look beautiful.” The words shot out in a stream.

 

Hermione’s cheeks turned a fetching shade of rose. Her brow crinkled as she realized how Harry was smirking at Draco.

 

“See, much better.” Ginny suddenly spotted the plate of cakes in her friend’s hands with laser focus. “Wait! Where did you get those?”

 

“The cakes?”

 

“Show me where you got those!” Ginny grabbed her friend by the wrist and started moving towards the nearest buffet table.

 

Draco watched as Hermione gave him one last, considering look before allowing her extraordinarily pregnant friend to drag her towards the desserts.

 

The gown was entirely backless.

 

It fit her like a glove.

 

“You’re doing it again.” Where Granger couldn’t manage a neutral face if her life depended on it, Potter had mastered an unblinking stare that would’ve made Voldemort uncomfortable.

 

Draco coughed and stiltedly grabbed for a flute of champagne on a passing server’s platter.

 

“Cheers.”

 

He raised his glass in Harry’s direction quickly before downing it with his eyes closed. The bubbles lifted into his nose, causing his eyes to water. Only when the burning passed, did Draco finally looked at the man who was still silently judging him.

 

They stared at one another tensely for a beat before Harry opened his mouth.

 

“You didn’t get one for me.”

 

Draco blinked.

 

“Then go get one, Potter. You have two functioning hands.”

 

“You are an asshole, Malfoy.”

 

“The observation of the century, surely.”

 

Harry gestured over the nearest waitstaff and asked if they had any beer—which, of course, they summoned instantly. He took a sip while continuing to look at Draco, whose hands were itching again.

 

“Does she know?”

 

“It took her how many years to realize Weasley was interested in her?”

 

“Fair.”

 

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

 

“Ok.”

 

Harry was feigning disinterest poorly, and Draco rolled his eyes.

 

“No threats of bodily violence?”

 

“She’d kill me if I did.”

 

“Maybe you’re going soft.”

 

“Oh, I promise I’m not.” Harry’s eyes flashed.

 

“Fine.”

 

“Fine.”

 

They both drank.

 

Draco paused then said, “Stop staring at me unless you want to start more rumors about us.”

 

Harry blinked.

 

“What rumors?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French --> English
> 
> le désordre organisé: roughly translates to "organized chaos"  
> la petite mort: From Wikipedia: "the sensation of orgasm as likened to death" and "post-orgasmic state of unconsciousness"


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind notes and reviews. I appreciate them and read them all, even if I am not available to respond.

Chapter 13

~ * ~

December 31, 2002  
Near Midnight

Hermione was having a surprisingly lovely evening. She would never love Ministry balls, but this was becoming a pleasant exception.

For one thing, she looked good. She might never tell Ginny how much she loved the borrowed dress but only because the redhead was already too smug.

The dress, though not as daring as others at the gala, was a departure for Hermione. She’d never been so aware of the skin on her back. Not a few heads had turned as she walked past, and she felt that rare, feminine power she occasionally envied in others.

That alone made it worth the poor maneuverability of the thing.

Hermione had spent the night strategically avoiding the dance floor and chatting with a number of witches curious about her dress. Most only just managed to contain their dismay that she really knew nothing about the designer, though they brightened considerably when she pointed them to Ginny Potter.

Ginny had developed quite a following amongst the witches of Great Britain as a feminist icon of sorts. She represented the younger generation of witches—ready to take on the world.

Hermione, of course, knew the Wizarding World was traditional. Voldemort’s efforts to evoke a nostalgia for Victorian aristocracy had not left with him, especially considering the Pureblood families. She had spotted a number of bustles scattered across the hall.

Why any woman would allow herself to be strapped such relics remained something of a mystery, though some of the witches present were well over a century old. Perhaps that’s why progress, even in fashion, crawled in Wizarding communities.

“My, my Miss Granger. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

Hermione turned with a smile.

“Happy New Year, Parvati.” Hermione embraced Parvati Patil with a wide smile. The other woman, dressed in a festive, embroidered lehenga, kissed Hermione on the cheek. “Here for work, are you?”

“Yes, but my work is my pleasure.” Parvati nudged Hermione playfully. “You look fantastic. You could make the cover in that outfit.”

Parvati had never really outgrown her interest in Divination, which had given her a foot in the door at Witch Weekly following graduation. Her column, Mistress P’s Practical Predictions, had eventually led to a larger position as a feature editor for the periodical.

“Where did you get this?” Parvati tilted her head down at Hermione’s gown. “Never knew you to be spending that Ministry salary on designer clothing.

“Of course not,” Hermione smiled at the idea. “No, Ginny lent it to me. It’s from her closet. You’d have to ask her where she got it.”

“Is that so?” Parvati bit her lip with a considering look in her eye before returning Hermione’s smile. “I’m sure I will have to ask her.”

“So,” Hermione took a sip of her champagne. “How’s your sister these days?”

“On duty at Mungo’s, of course.”

“What? Tonight? On New Year’s Eve?” Hermione hadn’t seen Padma since graduation. Issues of scheduling between women dedicated to their careers.

“She’d much rather have her wand inside some poor wizard than the opposite.” Hermione blushed at the innuendo as Parvati scanned the crowd. “Dedicated beyond all rationale. Not much unlike yourself.”

Hermione tried not to let the comment sting. After all, it had a ring of truth to it. She always begged off of Ministry events. Tonight had almost had her forgetting that she was basically a recluse.

“Well, she is the youngest Surgical Master in quite a few decades. Send her my love will you?”

Parvati waved a hand, both affirming and dismissing Hermione’s request. She had obviously found what she’d been looking for.

“The biggest story of the night right there,” Parvati nodded towards a familiar, bright blond head hovering in the distance.

Just the person Hermione had been both trying not to think about and also intentionally avoid—a paradoxical sort of mental gymnastics she did not care to examine at the moment.

“Seemingly straight through to the new year,” Hermione didn’t disguise a groan as she thought back to her light teasing of him earlier in the night. She had almost felt guilty about that. “Don’t tell me that he’s actually going to be the cover.”

“I know he doesn’t do anything for you, but the public can’t get enough,” Parvati sighed. “He could’ve at least brought a date and made my work easier.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione glanced over. She rolled her eyes as a rather young looking witch batted her magically extended lashes at Malfoy. He was faced away from her, but Hermione could imagine the stupid grin on his face.

“Well,” Parvati craned her neck over the crowd, trying to follow the man through the crowd. “There’s been a blind item floating around the offices. Obviously about Malfoy, but it’s the witch that has everyone whispering.”

“A witch?” Hermione felt her stomach drop a bit.

“One of my sources says the man is openly flirting with an unidentified witch at the Ministry. Someone even said they had caught them snogging in one of the corridors.”

“Oh.” Hermione suddenly felt quite deflated. Malfoy had been back all of a month and already had someone worth snogging.

“It’s only a matter of time until her name is leaked, but I understand why they are keeping it quiet.”

Parvati took Hermione’s silence as an invitation.

“As soon as that man gets locked down--not that’s he’s looking--it’ll be like a royal engagement. The Malfoys are as good as royalty, possibly even more so now that he’s redeemed himself.”

“Now? But he’s been acquitted since the end of the War.”

Hermione’s confused tone carried enough to make Parvati turn to consider her friend.

“Not everyone is as forgiving as you, ‘Mione.”

“Me? Forgiving?”

“Oh, please. You forgave Ron and Harry right after they spouted all that rubbish about you in First Year.”

“They rescued me from a mountain troll.”

“Yeah,” Parvati snorted. “After they trapped you in the bathroom with it.”

“But, how did you know-“ Hermione cocked her head at the very self-satisfied looking woman across from her. “Wow. You are good.”

“I know.” Parvati turned back to her quarry with a wink.

Hermione glanced over as well. Malfoy’s piercing grey eyes met hers, and she felt a shiver run through her body. She quickly averted her eyes down to her now empty glass.

“I see not much has changed.” Parvati frowned disapprovingly in Draco’s direction. “No love lost there.”

“No,” Hermione felt the heat in her cheeks quickly dissipate and guilt quickly replace it. She should really put in more of an effort to be nice to the man and quite needling him, no matter how tempting.

“Ladies! What a charming surprise.” Hermione flinched as she faced Cormac’s beaming smile. Dean Thomas was close on his heels.

“Cormac. Dean! It’s lovely to see you,” She hoped her smile was somewhat convincing, despite her somewhat dampened spirits. “How have your holidays been?”

“Absolutely packed,” Cormac boasted before Dean could respond. “Floods of high-ranking officials to host, you know. Party season.”

“Right. Of course,” Hermione agreed, not knowing at all.

“Parvati, you look brilliant,” Dean grinned sheepishly down at the saree-clad woman. “Can you dance in that?”

Parvati rolled her eyes. “Can I dance in this. Really, Dean.”

“No, I didn’t mean-“

“Let’s go then.” Parvati turned and then looked over at her shoulder at her former classmate. “Coming?”

Dean nodded faintly before following her over to the dance floor.

When had everyone figured out how to wind men around their fingers? Perhaps Hermione should have been reading Parvati’s columns. She ran her hands up and down her arms, trying to ward off the sudden chill of the room.

“Cold, Granger?” Cormac’s voice reminded Hermione abruptly that she wasn’t alone.

“What?”

“Here.”

Hermione was about to protest, not wanting the man’s cloak, but he just grabbed the empty glass out of her hands and replaced it with a fresh flute of champagne.

Granger looked quizzically at the frosted glass in her hands, feeling the chill creep through her hands to her body.

“Warm you up a bit.” Cormac nodded at her like he’s answered her prayers.

“Um, actually, I’m sure a charm will do,” she handed the flute back to him.

“Nonsense.” Cormac laughed condescendingly. “You need to loosen up.”

“No, really-“

He made to force it back into Hermione’s hand when it promptly shattered, spraying champagne all over the both of them.

They both blinked in shock, a few fizzy droplets clinging to Cormac’s chin. Hermione sighed in frustration, looking down at her white dress, now spotted with the faint peach spots of the alcohol.

“Strong grip. Sorry. Let me-“ Cormac made to get his wand. He whipped it from the inside of his robes with a flourish. Hermione stepped backward automatically as he pointed it at her.

“No!”

He paused at her outburst, looking mildly offended. Hermione breathed deeply. “Sorry, no. I mean, I can take care of it. Thank you, Cormac.”

The wrinkle of confusion on his brow smoothed, and his easy grin returned.

“What, you don’t trust me to do a simple cleansing charm?” McLaggen’s teasing tone was edged with condescension.

“Of course not,” Hermione replied. “It’s just that the fabric is quite delicate, and I just think-“

“It’s just a dress, Granger. And it’s not even yours,” He quipped loudly, eyeing the few people staring at them. “No need for hysterics.”

Hermione felt her magic crackle at the roots of her hair as her last tendril of patience snapped.

“You know what, Cormac?” She intoned lowly.

“Yes?” Cormac leaned in.

She leaned up to whisper in his ear.

“Fuck. Off.”

She felt him stiffen in shock and smiled as she pulled away.

“And Happy New Year,” she added.

Hermione left him gaping at the edge of the dance floor as she headed towards the ladies room. The absolute nerve of him. Really.

 

~ * ~

 

January 1, 2003  
Midnight

The booming voice of the Minister of Magic rang through the hall.

“...and with any new year comes new beginnings. We thank Head Auror Potter for her service and tireless work to secure a safe future for Wizarding Britain. We wish her and her husband the best on their next great endeavour.” There was a roar of applause for the Boy Who Lived and his wife. Kingsley Shacklebolt waited for silence and then cast a solemn look out at the well-heeled crowd before continuing.

“Our society has maintained a deserved peace, but we must remain vigilant. We do not entrust the position of Head Auror lightly, so it is with great pleasure and confidence that I welcome the next Head Auror of the Ministry of Magic, Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

Gasps erupted around the ballroom, as he met the Minister halfway across the stage. The platinum blond was unmistakable as it parted the crowds of stunned wizards and witches.

Draco’s expression was as smooth as the Great Lake on a windless day, but he felt his hand grip Shacklebolt’s unsteadily.

He nodded once, answering the hint of a question in the older man’s eyes, before turning to the ballroom.

He felt the weight of a roomful of eyes on him. Draco fought against the instinct to appear as unapproachable as possible, and, instead, lowered his eyes to look for Theo in the crowd. He needed to at least appear like he was connecting with people.

She was the first person he recognized in the crowd. Her lips were pulled into a grim line.

“It is my honor to serve Wizarding Britain and protect this great society. The Auror Department will continue to work with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to ensure the security and peace of all corners of our world.”

Whispers broke out in the silence left after his words and immediate departure from the stage.

He had expected as much, and his mind was elsewhere. His ears had been ringing since his little display of accidental magic.

A Head Auror that couldn’t control himself. Exactly what they were expecting from him. Well, he had done nothing in his life but meet expectations, hadn’t he?

McLaggen had been on Hermione like the giant squid, which wasn’t unusual, but when the tosser had tried to force alcohol on her, Draco had blanked out. Like a cork releasing from a bottle, the rage coiling in Draco’s gut had released. He’d blinked and the glass, halfway across the ballroom, had burst into pieces. Aside from a few scandalized gasps and glares, the mishap hadn’t garnered much attention, but Draco had quickly regained his right mind and moved away.

He’d found her once again in the crowd after he’d regained control of himself. She’d managed to get any stains out of her dress. He actually would have felt bad. What a fool he was.

The moment to hate himself ended as his feet met level ground, and he was swept into a stiff handshake with one of the less ancient members of the Wizengamot.

The next hour passed in the same manner—an endless stream of monotonous introductions and obligatory well wishes. Draco had stopped shaking hands after a particularly unpleasant, clammy interaction with the someone from the Improper Use of Magic Office, but there were still plenty of people who wanted to ingratiate themselves with a powerful man.

Every time there was a gap between interactions, he found himself scanning the room. Theo and Luna hadn’t made it to midnight, of course. Ginny and Harry had ducked out after the Minister’s speech, no doubt with Hermione.

The reporters had packed up their equipment and gone home, which only left the hardcore social climbers and the drunks behind. And him.

He didn’t know why he was still there. Perhaps he was fulfilling a morbid curiosity about what had, at one time, been his father’s singular obsession.

All in all, it felt like an unimpressive end to what should have been a significant night in his life.

He’d just excused himself from a dull discussion about inflation in the gold market when he felt a hand press gently on his arm.

The hope that flared in chest died abruptly as he turned to meet the steady gaze of the Minister of Magic.

“Minister Shacklebolt.”

The dark-skinned man let out a laugh that rumbled low and heavy from his chest.

“I’ve told you countless times. Call me Kingsley. If I’m not mistaken, your obligations to this event ended some time ago, Draco.”

“I’m surprised that you’re still here, actually, Minister.”

“Not much else for us old dogs to do on New Years except swap stories and drink whiskey.” Kingsley’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “You must be bored to tears.”

“Not at all-“

“Where have all your young friends gone off to?”

“Home, no doubt.”

“Ahh, I see.” Kingsley nodded his head knowingly. “Well, I saw Ms. Granger leaving the Hall not two minutes ago on her way home.

Kingsley continued without looking for Draco’s reaction.

“It’s a rare thing to see a fine witch unaccompanied on New Year’s morning, don’t you think?”

Draco tried to school his face into ambivalence, but he was honestly too exhausted to pull it off fully. No point in trying to lie to a former Head Auror in any case.

“Sir?”

Kingsley chuckled.

“You’ve lied to Voldemort. Survived your aunt. Defied your own father. And yet, this is the most shaken I think I’ve ever seen you.”

Draco felt his mouth open and close numbly.

“Just be a lad.” Draco raised his eyebrow in question, and Kingsley chuckled and slapped him on the back with a great thump. “Walk her home.”

“Right.”

“Happy New Year, Head Auror Malfoy.”

“Minister.”

 

~ * ~

 

Hermione frowned as she Transfigured her left heel into a trainer. She cast a look around at the deserted Main Hall.

The flickering, green flames of the Floos had been doused, leaving the obsidian walls and black marble uncharacteristically silent.

Honestly, how had she lost track of time like this? She’d been conversing with the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation, a short, squat man with a persistent cough that had been trying to convince her to come to visit his department when she’d noticed the ballroom had almost completely emptied. It was with considerable horror that she noticed the time, made appropriate excuses and headed into the Main Hall.

Only she discovered that the Ministry Floo Network had been temporarily closed. Regular maintenance.

So here she was. Transfiguring her shoes for a long walk home from the Apparition point. She sighed as she finished her right trainer and pulled up the hem of her skirt to resheath her wand in the thigh holster, also borrowed from Ginny.

There was a faint choking sound near her, and she yanked her wand back out defensively thrusting it out until it met resistance.

“Oh!” Hermione jerked the wand back down as soon as she realized she had the tip pressed to Malfoy’s throat. “Sorry!”

“No, no.” He swallowed reflexively. She watched the muscles in his neck tense and release. He was still staring at the place where her leg had been prominently exposed. “My fault.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she realized how much of herself she’d just had exposed, and in her place of work too. Personally, a leg was a leg, but, considering where she was, she might as well had whipped out a breast.

She followed her first instinct, which was to resolutely pretend as if nothing had happened. Hopefully, Malfoy would follow suit.

Malfoy rubbed his hand over his neck and stretched his head to the side with a wince. There was a mark forming where she had stuck him.

“I’m so sorry,” She said again, nodding down at her wand again. “Do you want me to…”

“No.”

“It might bruise.”

“It’s fine.”

Hermione found herself without a task, squirming under the intensity of his stare. She was distinctively reminded of the moment they’d shared in the bookstore. But there weren’t any books here. Or patrons.

“Well, if that’s all then.”

She stood awkwardly with her wand held limply in her hand. They hovered in place until she glanced at her hand and then at him with a slightly pleading look, hoping he would ignore the incredible rush of blood to her cheeks and face. He blinked suddenly, and the heat of his gaze cleared.

“Right.” He turned abruptly to face the wall, and she used to opportunity to stash her wand once again.

“Thank you.”

They lapsed into silence, while Hermione tried to breathe deeply. She resisted the urge to press her cool hands to her face.

“I’ll just-“

“I’m to accompany you.” He had turned back toward her, now looking resolutely somewhere above her shoulder.

“What? Who told you-” She huffed as she realized what had happened. “I told Kingsley I would be fine. Honestly, it is the 21st century!”

“You can fight me all the way home,” He said without any ire. Hermione was rendered silent at the softness of the last word on his tongue. It sent warmth down her spine, even as she remembered what he meant.

“A-Alright.”

“It’s what good neighbors do, I’m told.” 

“I think I told you that.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” A boyish grin slipped onto the man’s face, and Hermione had to catch her breath. Maybe he did deserve the cover of Witch Weekly.

“Come here,” He raised his chin slightly. The edge of command in his voice, rather than send her into a fit, made her insides melt into heated liquid.

She stepped towards him, and, for the third time in her life, Hermione felt the solid arms of Draco Malfoy enclose her briefly before the jerk of Apparition took them both. This time, she barely noticed the landing.

They materialized in the same position with his hands resting lightly on her lower back as he steadied her. He was looking at her, breathing heavily from the Apparition.

His lips parted slightly and she leaned forward onto her tiptoes without a thought, pressing her lips against his.

It was the gentlest of touches. A friendship kiss. A New Year kiss. Very congenial. Hermione was busy rationalizing the why of it, when she found herself propelled backwards into what felt like a stone wall as Malfoy deepened said kiss.

The analytical part of Hermione Granger’s brain short circuited as he pressed into her. She moaned indecently as he slid his tongue across the seam of her lips. His hands grasped at her hips possessively. She ran her hands up the nape of his neck, pulling him closer, and he growled into her mouth.

“Oi!”

They came apart with their ragged breathes punctuating the night air in wispy puffs.

Hermione looked dazedly over at a bedraggled man who, by the looks of it, was staggering home from the pub with his mates.

“Love me a free show!” He leered at Hermione, and she felt Malfoy bristle beside her. “Do us a favor. Turn a bit so we can see the rest of her.”

Hermione blinked, and Malfoy was gone. She heard a sudden crack and a groan. The protests of the man’s drinking companions rose suddenly, but Malfoy reappeared in her line of sight before she could see the damage.

“We should go.”

“What did you do?” Hermione tried to lean around him, but he anticipated her movement and blocked her again.

“Broken nose.” His jaw tensed slightly at her glare. ”Slightly broken nose.”

The sounds of angry, drunken men grew louder.

“Should we-“

“Can’t apparate, Granger.” He could have been speaking about the weather for how casual his tone remained. “Muggles.”

He held out his hand, and Hermione felt a shiver of anticipation.

“Oi! Mate!”

“What the fuck you think you’re doing?” The group of men were advancing unsteadily.

“Granger?”

“Ginny is going to murder me.” Hermione leaned down and ripped a seam up the side of her gown. She could practically hear Ginny screaming at her from Grimmauld.

Before Draco could respond she grabbed his outstretched hand and dashed off in the direction of the gardens.

Eaton Square Gardens was a maze of manicured lawns and enclosed gardens that ran alongside Belgravia. Hermione and Draco dashed down the side streets and across the strips of grass, quickly leaving the angry shouts behind them.

She felt the burn in her calves as she pounded her feet on the pavement beneath her. Her hand, where it was in contact with his, burned like an ember.

Running with Malfoy was like running with a ghost. He made no sound as he ducked around corners and weaved through the dark streets.

Before they knew it, Hermione had led them right up the steps of her apartment. She was laughing and out of breath.

The streets were silent once again. All sounds muffled by the fallen snow.

He was smiling openly with the flush of exertion upon his cheeks. She’d never seen him look so boyish, even when he had been one. A thought flashed across her mind: This is what we were fighting for.

It wasn’t an opinion she voiced often, even with Harry and Ron. She had known as well as they did that those in power would only relinquish it with force.

But Hermione had seen the cracks in the foundation of their world.

They could heal them like this.

He had noticed her drifting, as she often did, and the smile on his face had shifted to something more pensive.

“I apologize,” he intoned impassively.

“For what?”

“For denying you an opportunity. I know how much you enjoy punching people.”

Her face split into a wide grin, and she laughed despite herself.

”I wouldn’t have broken his nose.”

”Perhaps not.”

“Not an ideal way to start a new year, Draco.”

She tried his name out on her tongue. It was still unwieldy, but his eyes flashed and he returned the grin.

“Yes, well. Gryffindors seem to have a knack for pointless heroics. Thought I’d give it a go.”

“How did it feel?”

He shot her an incomprehensible look, and she felt the adrenaline in her veins melt into something heavier.

She looked at his lips for a moment, trying to remember how they had gotten here again. Charged air buzzed between them.

Whatever bravery or insanity she had mustered up before seemed to have been exhausted. She’d never thrown herself at another person before. Hermione wasn’t sure she’d find it in herself to repeat the experience. So she waited.

“It felt.” He paused, and she held her breath, trying to force down her unrelenting impatience.

She watched him, waiting, until she saw the spark in his eyes dampen and the shutter come down once more.

The heat cooled to lead in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to vanish into her house, but Hermione Granger didn’t do that.

Instead she leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek. She looked into his eyes and wished him a happy new year. Only then did she calmly turn to her door, resisting the urge to turn back and see if he would wait for her to go all the way inside.

Disappointment flooded her when she felt the soft pop of Apparition.

~ * ~

Hermione Granger was so thoroughly occupied with her thoughts, she didn’t glance out the window to see the two figures in the now outside of her flat. One with bright blonde hair and one in distinctive Ministry garb.

She didn’t witness their terse, low-toned discussion. The taller man running his hand through his hair. The apologetic tilt of other’s head.

If she had been listening, she would have heard the successive pops of two separate Apparitions.

But she hadn’t.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me! I am CONSTANTLY working on this, and I won't leave you hanging. I had to work out some plot points and map out the rest of the story. I read all the comments, but I rarely respond. 
> 
> I appreciate all of your wonderful comments! I'm glad you are enjoying this fic so far!

Chapter 14

 

January 1, 2003

_Malfoy Manor_

_Wiltshire, England_

 

 

A missive had been sent to the Auror department at midnight reporting the practice of Dark magic in Wiltshire. Despite the festivities, it had only taken an hour for Belby to get a hold of it and report directly to Draco. Draco appreciated the dedication, if not the timing.

 

He’d left London immediately, hopping Apparition points until he was back in the West Country.

 

Draco had gone to the greatest lengths to distance his name from the practice of Dark Arts, but Malfoy Manor possessed the kind of history that no single generation of good behavior could hope to alter.

 

Dark magic on the first day of the year at the new Head Auror’s ancestral house would do more than raise a few eyebrows.

 

Now, Draco moved silently through the halls of his family’s estate, having just convinced his mother to return to bed.

 

Narcissa had been shaken by her son’s sudden appearance and the news of a vandal skirting around the outside of the wards around the main house. Draco had spent the dawn hours walking along the extensive perimeter. It seemed that whoever had intruded on Malfoy lands knew to keep out of range of the house elves’ protective magic.

 

Dipsy would have had to iron her hands had his father still been around. His mother, who had, perhaps for lack of better company, warmed to the little creature, simply asked Dipsy to make some calming tea.

 

He hadn’t told the two residents of the house about the nature of the mark now branded into the grass. Mostly because he didn’t understand it himself. He’d landed with all the urgency of a Norwegian Ridgeback only to find no trace of Dark magic in the vicinity—just the runes burned into the hillside.

 

It wasn’t the Dark Mark, and for today that seemed to be enough.

 

Draco grimaced as he entered his father’s old study. His mother would never allow any of the rooms to fall into decay, but there was a distinctive odour of disuse hanging in stale air.

 

He could have left this to an actual work day and a reasonable hour, but it offered too good an excuse for not thinking about other events of that evening.

 

Slipping the leather-bound reference book from its familiar place on the shelf, Draco cast a Scourgify before settling into his father’s Gothic leather chair. The rune dictionary was deceptively slim, the thin pages sliding apart easily as he found the correct page.

 

~|~

   

**Fehu**

 

Name

foeh : cattle, money

 

Phonetic value: f

Esoteric interpretation of name: mobile property; power.

Ideographic interpretation: the horns of bovine livestock.

 

Magical Workings

1\. Strengthens psychic powers.

2\. Channel for power transference or projection; the sending rune.

3\. Drawing the projected power of the sun, moon, and stars into the personal sphere.

4\. Promotion of personal and social evolution.

5\. Increase in personal monetary wealth.

 

~|~

 

Draco rubbed his hand over his face in frustration as he skimmed over the rest of the description. He had been rubbish at Ancient Runes—part of the reason why it had taken him so long to fix that damn cabinet in 6th year.

 

He just needed to determine if this was a threat or not.

 

The mark he’d seen was comprised of two of the F-shaped characters inverted against one another.

 

Fehu meant _wealth_ —an easy jab at the once-wealthiest family in Great Britain. Any 3rd Year would know the character. But something seemed off.

 

He hadn’t found a single track or shred of evidence to indicate who’d been there. That alone ruled out drunk adolescents and the average wizard. Dark magic tended to leave a stain, and there hadn’t actually been any tangible evidence of that anywhere on the scene.

 

Draco scratched at the sleeve covering his left forearm in irritation.

 

The letter that had been sent to the Ministry had devoured itself sometime after Belby had left it on Draco’s desk, which opened up the unnamed sender as a party of interest.

 

Belby had been sent off with a copy of the runes and a request for discretion. It was highly probable that this was just a prank, but he was being observed through a magnifying glass. All departments had leaks, and he needed time to find them and plug them.

 

Draco pulled a sheet from a sheaf of parchment and uncapped an inkwell on his father’s desk.

 

The first message was simple. He asked Theo to meet him later at his flat.

 

He called his owl and tied the scroll to her leg.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, he reached out for another sheet.

 

He might have enjoyed using his father’s eagle feather quill to write the words, if he wasn’t occupied with brooding over his mistakes.

 

The quill stuttered. He watched the indigo ink soak into the paper, bit by bit.

 

Pathetic.

 

He crumpled up the note and incinerated it. Rubbing his face with a frustrated growl, Draco focused back on the runic dictionary.

 

_~ * ~_

 

January 6, 2003

_Whitehall, London_

_Ministry of Magic_

_First day back from holidays_

 

Hermione winced as the back of one of her new loafers bit into her heel. She never could remember to ask Ginny for that charm to break in new shoes. She nodded at Edward in the lift with a smile as he took them down to the Archives.

 

It was a large effort on her part not to think about the ways this day could end. She managed to avoid catastrophic thinking until approximately the third day after she’d kissed Draco Malfoy. The unfinished words he’d uttered we're still ricocheting around the unoccupied corners of her mind.

 

Holidays were already torturous for her without the added complication of a man-shaped distraction.

 

Just as Parvati had predicted, the photo of him at the ball had been plastered across the front page the next morning. She’d quietly folded her copy and placed it in the drawer of her bedside table, not able to stomach another article about him.

 

Over the brief days of her vacation, Hermione found her fingers itching for her quill. She wrote an unusual number of letters over the short week. Even Ron got a generic message wishing him well for the new year. Nothing to Malfoy, of course—even she wasn’t that much of a masochist.

 

Parvati had told her that he’d been involved with someone in the Ministry. She hadn’t even thought to ask.

 

He could be sleeping with every intern from the courtrooms to the Minister’s Office. It certainly wouldn’t be a challenge for him.

 

And it certainly wasn’t any of her business.

 

Many of the “war heroes” had dipped into their post-war popularity once or twice to test the waters. Everyone save for Harry and Ginny had had their brush with promiscuity.

 

Hermione worried as the floors of the Ministry flashed through the diamond lattice rails of the lift.

 

Her cheeks burned as she remembered the look on his face. The rush of mortification that came with each recalling hadn’t dulled in the slightest.

 

A brain like hers meant infinite, new layers of analysis without any conscious effort on her part. Her upper lip had been sweaty. Her hair incomprehensible. He’d dropped her hand like it was on fire.

 

She stopped outside of her new office’s doors to collect herself before she faced Theo, who had undoubtedly beaten her to work. The sickly burn in the pit of her stomach didn’t go away, but it couldn’t be helped.

 

First days back were usually pretty quiet though.

 

She pushed open the door only to walk into a conversation that was clearly on its way to becoming an argument.

 

”So are you saying it’s nothing or are you saying it’s something?”

 

The voice cut through her like a slicing charm. The object of her preoccupation was already sitting in a chair in front of Theo’s desk.

 

She didn’t know if she was horrified or relieved to see him. She’d gotten so used to seeing him around. She had actually missed him. That was a surprise.

 

His Auror’s robes were draped over the back of the chair in a way that suggested he’d been there for some time.

 

Theo was sitting at his desk with his fingers at his temples.

 

”It’s not nothing, but I can’t say for certain what it is, ” he said wearily. ”I told you. I need context.”

 

Malfoy stiffened as the latch on the office door clicked into place.

 

Theo moved first.

 

“Hermione! Happy New Year!” Theo’s cheery greeting trailed off into concern as he took in her expression. “Are you alright?”

 

Draco hadn’t even turned to look at her. He hadn’t moved at all, actually.

 

It was fine.

 

If Malfoy wanted to act like a child and ignore her, that was entirely his prerogative. She, on the other hand, was going to handle this like an adult. At least it would be a return to normalcy.

 

“Theo!” Hermione felt the tremor in her throat. “Yes! No, I’m fine. Happy New Year! Malfoy. You as well.”

 

She winced at the horrendous affectation her voice had taken on. Saying his name had never felt so awkward.

 

Malfoy didn’t give any indication that he’d heard her, which should have been a relief. He’d returned to being a taciturn prick. For them, this was normal. It should have been reassuring.

 

She just felt acute disappointment.

 

After registering the sinking sensation in her stomach, Hermione realized that there were exactly zero endings to this interaction where she would walk away not having embarrassed herself further.

 

Because she had missed Draco Malfoy.

 

And he couldn’t even care enough to look at her.

 

”I have to go,” she declared impulsively. “There’s been a development.”

 

“Has there?”

 

Theo looked confused. She might have laughed at his resemblance to Ron, but she was feeling suffocated suddenly. Her focus had narrowed to the chair where a bright blond head of hair was resolutely looking at the opposite wall. She had time.

 

If he saw her, he would know she’d been thinking about him. About _it_. About it with him.

 

And Theo wouldn’t stay confused for long.

 

She needed to get out of there.

 

”It’s, um, rather urgent...” her voice wavered.

 

She was in a pit with a snake.

 

Malfoy moved to turn around, and her world shrunk down to one word.

 

_Out._

 

Hermione obeyed the voice that popped into her head, spinning on her heel and hauling the door back open.

 

“I’m going to just, um, yes...”

 

”What?” Theo’s concerned voice was the thing she heard as she darted out of the room.

 

Instead of going to the closest lifts, she detoured quickly down the far corridor, which happened to pass the Auror department.

 

She needed to clear her head.

 

If he hadn’t shown up in the Archives today, it would’ve been tomorrow or the day after.

 

In what she now knew was a spectacular waste of time, her holidays had been spent trying to avoid thinking about Malfoy. A monumental error.

 

She’d needed to formulate a plan.

 

Quickly as she could, Hermione reached the other end of the building and the set of lifts there.

 

She hissed at the small part of her that felt worse that she didn’t hear anyone following her.

 

Out. She needed out.

 

The rails of the lift opened, and she stepped inside.

 

”Floor, Ms. Granger?”

 

She looked blankly at the wizard managing the lift.

 

“Have a pleasant holiday?” The older wizard chuckled to himself. “I’ll wager you went abroad, as famous as you are. Somewhere where you wouldn’t be so easily recognized.”

 

Hermione nodded faintly.

 

”Basement Level 6, please,” she breathed after a moment, the seed of an idea sprouting in her head.

 

”Right away, Ms. Granger.”

 

She exhaled as she felt the lift descend. Dipping into her bag, she quickly penned a note to Theo and charmed it to fly to his office.As the lift doors opened, the little, winged note fluttered off down the hallway, and she turned towards the Portkey Office.

 

Mercifully, there was no line. Benefits of the first day of work after a long holiday.

 

”Destination?”

 

”Hogwarts.”

 

The woman at the counter looked up, her eyes narrowing in suspicion and then widening in surprise as she realized who had made the request.

 

“M-miss Granger.” She stuttered before she collected herself, her little, black spectacles slipping down her nose.

 

“The Portkey, please…” Hermione checked the brass nameplate perched on the edge of the desk. “Madame McCovney. It is a matter of some urgency.”

 

“I don’t have any record of a pre-registration under your name.”

 

Due to increased security measures, some locations were now only accessible by Portkey. Of course, Hogwarts had gone even further and required identity verification.

 

Hermione only hesitated for a moment before the lie slipped from her lips.

 

“Ah, yes, of course. It would be under Theodore Nott, Head of the Magical Archives. There was a last minute change. I’m meant to go in his place.”

 

Madame McCovney pursed her lips, revealing the frown lines around her mouth.

 

“The Ministry requires all Portkeys to Hogwarts be pre-registered to the wizard or witch using them. I’m sure you understand what you are asking is quite impossible.”

 

Hermione kept her face calm, as her mind raced.

 

“I completely understand,” she hedged. "Mr. Nott should have submitted the paperwork sometime this morning.”

 

“We’ve not received anything from Archives,” Madam McCovney’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and Hermione remembered that many at the Ministry had not appreciated her and her friends’ multiple security breaches during the War. “I’m afraid I would need, at the very least, to check with Mr. Nott.”

 

“Of course.” Hermione pressed her lips together with a barely concealed sigh.

 

“If that will be all-“ Madam McCovney frowned as a Ministry owl dropped a letter onto her desk. Glancing briefly at its official seal, the woman shot a pointed look at Hermione, who smiled stiffly and turned to leave.

 

She’d just have to face the music. In any case, her mortification was quickly turning into indignation. He hadn’t even had the decency to look at her!

 

Hermione had liked it better when Malfoy was just that ex-blood supremacist she’d punched in school. Or even Harry’s new dueling partner. Or Ginny’s dinner guest.

 

Certainly, any of those iterations were preferable to the Draco Malfoy that insisted on walking women home.

 

“Miss Granger?”

 

Hermione turned back around to look at Madam McCovney, who looked as if she’d swallowed a lemon.

 

“Yes?”

 

“It seems that,” the woman paused for a moment. “Mr. Nott has just sent over the requisite paperwork for the transfer of Portkey.”

 

Hermione caught herself before her surprise and relief could make its way to her face. Mind buzzing, she nodded numbly as she returned to the desk and began to fill out the paperwork that appeared before her.

 

“Please tell Mr. Nott to submit paperwork in a timely manner in the future.”

 

The woman could have been Madame Pince’s sister.

 

Ten minutes and an identity scan later, Hermione was directed to the meeting point to catch her Portkey to Scotland.

 

 

_~ * ~_

 

 

A full two weeks later

_Scottish Highlands_

_Edge of a loch_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Excavation tunnel, previously a lost secret passage near the Hogwarts kitchens_

 

 

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Hermione sighed as she levitated a pile of rubble up to the surface. “It’s not like Xenophilius is a traditional Pureblood.”

 

Theo leaned over the opening that led to the tunnel where Hermione stood. He flicked his wand and the pile of rocks moved over and started sorting themselves by size.

 

”You’ll find it interesting what customs even the most eccentric Purebloods will adhere to, and it’s not _for_ him.”

 

“Why don’t you ask Ginny? She’s in Luna’s year. They are much closer.”

 

“And have the whole world know about it before I have a chance to give it to Luna?”

 

Hermione sighed.

 

“Ginny was one of the greatest Secret Keepers in the Order and then literally one of the largest guardians of confidential information at the Ministry.”

 

Theo simply raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

 

“Fine. Tell me again.”

 

Theo nodded.

 

“A bracelet woven from polished sprigs of Valerian for potion-making.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“A warming necklace made of suspended Fire seeds.”

 

“Mmm.”

 

“Earrings made from a Sphinx’s teeth charmed to sing riddles to anyone who’ll listen.”

 

She openly winced at that one.

 

“Not that one then. Last one is a wand charm containing Essence of HinkyPunk.”

 

Hermione rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand and groaned a bit.

 

“Ginny would be much better at this.”

 

“Please,” Theo urged. “Just your opinion.”

 

“Definitely the singing earrings.”

 

”Really?”

 

”How long will the charm last?”

 

“Until all the riddles are solved.”

 

Theo frowned slightly as he spoke, a look of mild dissatisfaction crossing his features.

 

“What now?” Hermione was becoming exasperated. Theo had appeared in the Great Hall that morning, and she’d assumed it was to help her with the excavation. All he’d done since then was talk about Luna.

 

The last thing she needed was to drag a lovestruck fool through a high-profile Ministry project.

 

She’d thought the pair were already dating, but, apparently, Pureblood customs still carried weight, or at least enough to warrant an official courting gift. One that Luna could apparently decline.

 

If she wasn’t so irritated with him, Hermione might have found it fascinating. The gift couldn’t appear to be too expensive. It also needed to be temporary so as not to obligate the gift receiver. Theo had approached these rules with the typical creativity of a Slytherin.

 

Sphinx teeth weren’t exactly stocked at Dervish and Bangs.

 

“You’ve split the vote,” he mumbled, clearly poring over his options once more.

 

“I didn’t know this was a democratic decision.”

 

“A what?”

 

“Nothing.” Hermione hauled herself up out of the tunnels and back into the room with Theo. She grimaced as she brushed off her trousers and little clouds of dust puffed out into the air.

 

“How many people have you asked?”

 

“Two, including you.”

 

“Oh.” Hermione knew who the second would have been. She’d been trying not to go down that particular path since she’d arrived at Hogwarts.

 

“Now see,” Theo started with a grin. “That’s interesting.”

 

“What?”

 

“That reaction.” Theo was on his way to fully smirking now. “It wasn’t Draco, though I understand why you’d assume it’d be him. He’s been an utter cock since New Years. You wouldn’t happen to know why?”

 

Hermione sucked in a breath.

 

 _Trap_.

 

_Sneaky. Conniving. Manipulative._

 

Hermione tried to look like a person that had to take a moment to recall New Years.

 

Theo was trying not to laugh. Hermione’s mood instantly soured.

 

“I have never seen you think that hard about anything. And I’ve never seen Draco as worked up since he got punched in 3rd Year.” He looked at her expectantly.

 

Hermione felt the blood rush to her face, but she stuck out her chin stubbornly.

 

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Don’t share with the class.”

 

Theo leaned back to look at her pensively. She chewed on her lip. The rubble had finished sorting itself by now.

 

“So things with Luna are getting serious then?” Hermione turned their conversation back to the original topic.

 

Theo nodded.

 

“It’s been enjoyable.”

 

“What a ringing endorsement for romance,” Hermione deadpanned, still feeling a bit sore.

 

“An understatement, of course.” He brushed some dust off of his robes. “We aren’t all Weasleys, running around shouting our feelings to the world.”

 

Hermione opened her mouth automatically to defend them but found she didn’t actually disagree with Theo. Ron and Ginny, at least, had both proven themselves to be demonstrative in their affections.

 

He smirked, and she glared at him.

 

“I don’t understand wizards at all sometimes,” she grumbled to herself.

 

“I could have said the same about witches not two months ago.”

 

“And now you’re some kind of expert?”

 

“I’d like to think that I’ve learned a thing or two about how witches think.”

 

He winked at her.

 

Hermione only narrowly avoided taking that obvious bait. Theo was being facetious at best, basking in his newfound confidence. She couldn’t begrudge him that.

 

Luna was the most incomprehensible person imaginable, but she had a way of latching onto a person’s heart.

 

Hermione might never stop being shocked by the woman, but she would fight an army to protect her. They all would.

 

”If you are finished gloating, can we please get back to work?”

 

“I swear the two of you are brewed from the same cauldron,” Theo chuckled again. ”Work it is then.”

 

Hermione glared at him before she conjured her notes and invited him to sit in her makeshift office.

 

An hour and a half later, Theo leaned back in his chair with a groan as Hermione finished going over the last of her notes.

 

”...in conclusion, I noted that perhaps I could enlist some of the higher level students to assist in the clearing of the tunnel now that the structure has been determined to be sound. I haven’t had a chance to speak to Professor McGonagall yet. What do you think?”

 

”That was...” Theo paused. ”Remarkably thorough. Is that what it was like studying with you at Hogwarts?”

 

Hermione visibly deflated.

 

“It was bit much I know...”

 

”I mean no wonder the departments were trying so hard to recruit you. It’s like there was a team of people working here for two weeks.” Theo explained quickly.

 

”Oh, ” Hermione was used to a less appreciative response to her lectures. Exasperation seemed to be the more common reaction. That and mild dozing.

 

Her throat was actually a bit hoarse, and she realized that she hadn’t actually spoken aloud that much in a long time.

 

“It’s incredible what you’ve done.” Theo sighed and looked down at his hands, suddenly looking a bit serious.

 

“I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

 

”But,” Theo was choosing his words carefully. ”As exceptional as this work is, I’m actually here to send you back to London.”

 

Hermione blinked.

 

”What? Why?”

 

”The Ministry case I had been asked to consult on has been resolved.”

 

”What happened?” She asked automatically.

 

”Confidential.”

 

”Yes, of course.” She grinned sheepishly as Theo shot her a knowing look.

 

”So thank you for covering for me, ” He continued. ”I would’ve had to delay the project if you hadn’t been here to pick up the slack. I was hoping you’d be amenable to our original plan.”

 

He voice picked up at the end in a question.

 

”Of course.” Hermione smiled genuinely. “I’ll arrange a Portkey back to the city tomorrow.”

 

“You don’t need more time to prepare?”

 

“Oh...no,” Hermione responded, the smile faltering as she read her misstep in Theo’s concerned face.

 

People usually needed more time to move from place to place. Since the War, Hermione had been ready to move perpetually. Her little drawstring bag hadn’t left her side even in sleep. A habit.

 

Her stomach growled, ending their awkward silence.

 

“Hungry?” Theo asked. “Want to go see if there’s anything to eat in the Kitchens?”

 

Hermione checked the time and finally registered how late it was.

 

“Yeah, alright. The Elves are finally speaking to me again though so behave yourself.”

 

Theo stood and brushed the dust off his trousers.

 

Hermione looked around at the little room that had become her office for the past weeks. She was immensely grateful for the time away but had realised within the first week that she was out of her depth.

 

Her original excuse to Theo, that she’d arranged a time to review some documents only accessible at the school, was weak at best.

She’d been thrown for a loop when he’d not only acquiesced to her sudden need to be at Hogwarts but asked if she would be willing to begin the first stage of the excavation without him. It seemed that the case took precedence over his own department’s work.

 

She’d never participated in an excavation, let alone done one on her own, but she could move rocks and make reports. It was absolutely logical that they return to their original plan of Theo managing the fieldwork and her running research.

 

It was almost a relief. The excavation was a lot of slow work.

 

As the stood near the door, Theo opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. Hermione realized that he was probably trying not to hurt her pride.

 

”Theo, I completely understand. I’ll be happy to be back in the books again.”

 

He looked at her like he didn’t quite believe what she was saying.

 

”What?” she prompted. ”You have far more experience than me with handling artifacts. It’s only logical you handle the fieldwork now that the passageway is almost clear. I’ve basically been handling rubble for the past two weeks--not exactly skilled labor.”

 

”Yes, I was meaning to ask, ” Theo started as it occurred to him. ”Why didn’t you enlist the Elves to help you?”

 

Hermione’s eyes popped open wide.

 

”The House Elves?”

 

Theo nodded before continuing.

 

”They are paid now. I assumed you wouldn’t have any objections. I know they assisted in the recovery efforts after the War, and you were involved with that project. But maybe there’s something I’m missing.”

 

Hermione’s face drained of blood.

 

”I hadn’t even thought of it, ” she whispered. ”Of course, they know the castle better than any witch or wizard here. Why didn’t I think of them?”

 

Her mind started running through the past two weeks, stacking up the wasted hours. A wave of nausea hit her.

 

Theo’s eyes widened and he began waving his hand as if he could vanish the whole conversation.

 

“Forget I said it.”

 

“I thought the system I’d set up,” she took a seat on one of the rickety chairs and gestured bonelessly at her piles of rocks. “Was the most efficient based on the field journals I’d read.”

 

Theo winced.

 

“Most treasure seekers aren’t exactly high born. Not many House Elves among thieves, smugglers and career academics.”

 

“No,” she nodded faintly. “No, I can see that.”

 

She felt a ragged edge snag on her intestines and twist. Any witch would have thought of enlisting Elves to assist in the excavation. It would have been like second nature.

 

If she were any other witch, Theo would have pointed it out after the first report. Few to none would ever think to mention House Elves to Hermione Granger, with or without fair work conditions.

 

She’d made this mess by herself.

 

“You look ill, Hermione. I honestly didn’t mean to cause you any distress. It’s fine!”

 

Hermione blinked and realized she was staring at Theo still.

 

“No, no, I know. Please, it’s nothing.” She shook her head and ran a hand over her hair. “I’m just tired.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Yes,” she nodded and managed a smile. “I’m sure it isn’t a surprise, but I have a tendency to overexert myself.”

 

Theo nodded, still clearly a bit worried.

 

“Maybe I should call it a night,” she continued.

 

“Whatever you need.”

 

“Thank you, Theo.”

 

“Thank you for all your help, Hermione. It’s been invaluable, really.”

 

Hermione smiled numbly at Theo’s slight bow as she left. He probably didn’t even notice he did it. Another Pureblood custom.

 

Later, Hermione wouldn’t remember how she got back to her room that night, if she ate, or how she’d gotten ready for bed.

 

She’d simply found herself lying on her back under the covers, staring at the dark ceiling of the four poster bed with tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

 

The next morning, after a goodbye from Professor McGonagall and the last check-in with Theo, Hermione had an errant thought as her fingers slipped around the Portkey.

 

She couldn’t remember if she’d slept at all.

 

 

 

_~ * ~_

 

References for Runes:

Thorsson, Edred.  _Futhark: a Handbook of Rune Magic_. Aquarian, 1985.


	15. Chapter 15

 

~ * ~

 

 

January 25, 2003

Hermione’s flat

Sloane Square

London

 

Hermione woke reflexively, her fingers already reaching for her wand before she heard the footsteps and relaxed.

 

“Hermione!” Ginny Weasley’s muffled voice could be heard inside the flat.

 

Hermione groaned and rolled over to check the clock on her bedside table.

 

1:00 pm

 

She moaned grumpily as she tried to untangle herself from her sheets. She’d only just gotten in from Hogwarts and had been trying to catch up on sleep.

 

Hermione brushed some stray hairs from her mouth and tried to get the mass of curls to one side.

 

She really needed the loo.

 

“YOU have some explaining to do!”

 

Hermione’s eyes widened. That was the angry voice.

 

Hermione chastised herself for not stopping in at Grimmauld the night before when she could’ve had Harry as a buffer.

 

Hermione rushed to her bedroom door and opened it.

 

Ginny was...still pregnant—and by the looks of it, extremely uncomfortable.

 

“How did you—“ Hermione blinked. “Ginny, did you Floo here?“

 

“Don’t lecture me!” Ginny yelled, having turned around and headed for the kitchen as soon as she knew Hermione was awake. “It’s perfectly safe. If you think I’m squeezing down that hallway to hug you, you’ve got another thing coming.”

 

“Do you want some tea?” Hermione called after her. “I can make some.”

 

“I know where the bloody tea is,” Ginny grumbled as she began pulling cups and a kettle down from the shelf. “What I want is an explanation for you running off without telling anyone.”

 

Hermione followed her, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

 

“I told Theo.”

 

“Only because you needed his Department Head approval.”

 

“He told you?”

 

Ginny waved dismissively as she filled the kettle and set it on the stove. Hermione had taught her how to use it the Muggle way once when she’d first moved into the flat. Ginny had been shocked to learn how long Muggles had to wait for tea.

 

“Let’s hear it then,” Ginny nodded expectantly at Hermione, who winced.

 

“Can you give me a moment?”

 

“Why?”

 

“I have to use the loo.”

 

Ginny pursed her lips in a scowl.

 

“What, are you asking for my permission?”

 

“You are absolutely terrifying.”

 

“Says the woman who rode an Ironbelly out of Gringotts.”

 

“To the one that flattened the Department of Mysteries.”

 

“Oh, the glory days,” Ginny sighed wistfully before nudging her friend. “Go pee.”

 

“There are biscuits in the cupboard that are going to waste.”

 

“Consider them gone.”

 

Hermione returned from the bathroom to find a cup of tea with milk set out on the counter and Ginny splayed across her sofa.

 

“I haven’t seen my feet in months. Harry tells me they’re fine, so I know they are hideous. I can’t sleep because I need to pee every hour. I’ve exploded almost all of the glassware in the house out of frustration. ” Ginny pointed at her abdomen. “I want this little git out. He was due weeks ago. That was my update. What in the bloody hell is going on with you?”

 

Hermione, who had been quietly sipping tea and grinning at her friend’s rant, tensed up.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Ginny groaned and rolled her eyes.

 

“You are so smart, and yet, so stupid.”

 

“Rude,” Hermione said with a small smile. “I’m going to let you have that one because you are going on 10 months pregnant.”

 

“A stupid thing to bring up to a highly pregnant woman.”

 

“Theo and I switched places, so I could do some fieldwork. It’s invaluable work experience.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“I beg your pardon,” Hermione had a mildly offended look on her face.

 

“Don’t even try that with me,” Ginny scolded.

 

Hermione huffed.

 

“It works on Harry and Ron, but that’s because they are just as bad at lying as you.”

 

“I don’t see what lying has to do with anything.”

 

“Easy tells. Harry gets awkward. Ron gets angry. You get indignant. Like a puffed up Kneazle.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“So if you are ready to stop avoiding the question: What is going on with you?”

 

At Hermione’s stubborn silence, Ginny grinned slyly.

 

“Harry told me about Draco.”

 

“What?” He had told Harry? Harry, of all people.

 

“So you do know!”

 

Ginny grinned wider as Hermione shook her head insistently.

 

“It didn’t mean anything,” she hissed defensively.

 

Ginny stopped with her mouth half open—whatever she’d planned to say instantly forgotten. Her surprise morphed into a full-blown grin that sent Hermione rapidly backtracking.

 

“What didn’t mean anything?!”

 

“Nothing!” Hermione’s voice had risen a few octaves. “What were you saying?”

 

“Nuh uh. What are you talking about?” Ginny was practically vibrating with evil glee. “You, Hermione Granger, did something with Draco Malfoy.”

 

“No!” Hermione insisted again.

 

“To him?”

 

At Hermione’s stunned silence, Ginny burst out laughing.

 

“You shagged him!”

 

“NO!”

 

“Snogged him then.”

 

Hermione’s nostrils flared and Ginny dissolved into peals of laughter again.

 

“I’m so telling Harry when I get home.”

 

“Don’t you dare!”

 

“That’s why you went to Hogwarts? You were running away, you little sneak.”

 

Hermione buried her face in her hands and groaned loudly. She was about two seconds away from going back to Scotland—by Apparition if necessary—Hogwarts and House elves be damned. Ginny was still wiping tears from her eyes when Hermione spoke up again.

 

“Maybe I should quit my job.”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ginny teased. “Sleep with him and then quit your job.”

 

“Ginny.”

 

“Then tell me everything.”

 

“Ginny!”

 

“What?” Ginny smiled at the scandalized look on her friend’s face.

 

“I’m telling you I might want to quit my job, and all you can think about is Draco Malfoy.”

 

“I doubt you are going to quit your job over a boy.”

 

“Not quite that.”

 

“What then?”

 

Hermione bit her lip.

 

“Maybe I made a mistake with choosing to work in the Archives.”

 

“What are you talking about? You are perfect for the Archives. It’s literally the Ministry’s library.”

 

“It’s just that at Hogwarts…with the excavation…I didn’t do so well.”

 

“You always say that.”

 

“I mean it this time.”

 

“You always mean it!” Ginny continued.

 

Ginny, for all of her outstanding qualities, was never fully able to grasp why Hermione sometimes felt out of place and inadequate in the magical world. On the rare occasions Hermione had had the chance to explain how the wizarding world felt to her, a Muggleborn, her friends had been supportive but uncomprehending. She supposed it was like explaining wetness to a fish or flight to a bird.

 

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, trying to think of the best way out of the conversation.

 

“He fancies you, you know.” Ginny offered, as if it was going to help settle Hermione’s nerves. “That’s what Harry told me.”

 

Hermione just stared at her friend long enough for Ginny’s cheeky grin to give way to concern.

 

“Hermione?”

 

A giggle of disbelief escaped before she could smother it. It was like a dam broke inside her and what came pouring out was slightly hysterical laughter. The stress and exhaustion seemed to have finally gotten the best of her.

 

“Merlin,” Ginny mumbled in bewilderment.

 

Hermione laughed louder.

 

“Harry thinks Draco ‘fancies’ me? Me?!” she managed to calm her fit of giggles down enough to express her disbelief.

 

“Well...yes,” Ginny replied, looking more worried. 

 

“And you believe him?”

 

“He kissed you!”

 

“I jumped him,” Hermione clarified. “And then I invited him into my house.”

 

There was another pause, before Ginny’s voice exploded across the living room.

 

“You did what?”

 

“I mean basically.”

 

“You propositioned Malfoy.”

 

Hermione nodded.

 

“And he didn’t take you up on it?”

 

Hermione shook her head.

 

“I don’t even know what that means,” Ginny shook her head in disbelief.

 

“Maybe he just wasn’t interested,” Hermione mumbled. “And wasn’t it you that told me it’d be a mistake to get mixed up with him?”

 

Ginny scrunched her face.

 

“Did I?”

 

“You did!”

 

“How was the kiss though?”

 

Hermione replayed the memory in her mind. She remembered the thrill of his lips pressed against hers...the heat of his breath against the skin of her neck...

 

The urgency of his hands running up her sides and…

 

“So it was hot.” Ginny deadpanned from the couch. “I knew it. You two fight like kneazles and crups. ”

 

“Huh?” Hermione was a bit dazed. “It was…fine.”

 

“We need to get a Pensieve in here,” Ginny replied.

 

“What?” Hermione smoothed her hands over her pajamas. Her palms were warm again.

 

Ginny leaned towards her friend and repeated, “A Pensieve. I’m afraid your objectivity on this matter has been compromised. You need an outside opinion.”

 

Hermione took a look at her friend’s face and let out a noise of disgust. “Ginny. You lech.”

 

Ginny huffed and leaned back into the sofa.

 

“You had a steamy make-out session with the sexiest man in the UK, and I’m stuck at home knitting hats and twiddling my thumbs.”

 

“You don’t knit.”

 

“That’s beside the point! Harry won’t touch me because he’s worried about denting the baby. I’m basically crawling out of my skin day in and day out.”

 

“It’s the hormones,” Hermione replied simply.

 

“The what?”

 

“Your body produces chemicals...like elements...when you are pregnant. They signal the changes in your body. They are what cause some of the uncomfortable side effects like the nausea and the moodiness…and the increased libido.”

 

“I thought it was from the magical cores rebalancing themselves.”

 

“Partially,” Hermione agreed with only minor hesitation—she knew next to nothing about magical pregnancies. “But there’s quite a bit of biochemistry involved.”

 

“Bio-what?” Ginny screwed up her face. “So I am supposed to be this horny?”

 

“Apparently.” Hermione’s curiosity got the best of her. “Is it terrible?”

 

“I can’t decide whether I want to skin Harry or climb him like a tree. I’m losing my mind waiting for this to end.”

 

“Actually, some Muggle doctors recommend sexual intercourse for inducing labor. Or spicy food.”

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“Or castor oil, I think. I’d have to look it up.”

 

“I can have sex?”

 

“Well…yes,” Hermione paused. “Semen contains some of the...elements...required to stimulate labor.”

 

Ginny began heaving herself up from the sofa suddenly, catching her friend off guard. Hermione leaped up to help her swollen friend out of the seat.

 

“I’m going home!”

 

“Wait, why? Are you ok?”

 

Ginny smiled, really glowing for the first time that day. She whipped her wand around and a streak of white came bursting out of it, weaving its way around the living room and then out the window.

 

“I’m getting this baby out of me.”

 

Ginny brushed herself off before turning to look at Hermione.

 

“Don’t think I’m finished with you yet.”

 

With one last meaningful look, she walked over to Hermione’s fireplace, took a bit of Floo powder and was gone.

 

 

~ * ~

 

 

January 27, 2003

St. Mungos Hospital

Mayfair

London

 

 

James Sirius Potter came screaming into the world in the early hours of the morning after precisely 6 hours of labor. The leading mediwitch said his mother had been a natural.

 

Ginevra Potter (née Weasley) sobbed quietly with her son cradled against her chest. Harry Potter was wrapped around the both of them—as best he could be given the hospital bed—staring at his newly expanded family in unabashed wonder.

 

Outside of their little world, in a private, silenced waiting room, the entire Weasley family was gathered in celebration. Molly was unrestrained in her joy and needed to cast a drying charm on her handkerchief multiple times.

 

Bill, Percy, and George had been partaking in some smuggled Ogden’s and swapping stories while waiting during the long early morning hours. Now the brothers, including a rather disheveled Percy, were holding one another and belting the Hogwarts song in three separate keys. Arthur was taking in his boys’ raucous singing with a proud, quiet smile. Next to him sat a watery-eyed Hermione Granger.

 

James was beautiful. He had bright, blue eyes and wisps of his father’s jet-black hair.

 

She hadn’t held him, but she’d touched one of his tiny hands as he slept. The look on Ginny’s face had taken her breath away, and Hermione had felt an ache as she looked at the little triad.

 

When the nurse had asked everyone to leave so Ginny could breastfeed, Hermione had almost breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Did I miss it?”

 

The doors of the waiting room had swung open revealing a windswept, ruddy-cheeked Ronald Weasley.

 

Hermione had, of course, known he was coming but being in the same room had only faintly occurred to her as a possibility. They’d been playing the avoidance game for so long, she’d just assumed he’d be late.

 

His eyes fell on her for a moment, and he hesitated a moment before turning back and smiling at his mother.

 

“Oh! Ronald!” Molly cried out relief and moved to embrace her youngest son. “We thought you weren’t coming!”

 

“Of course, I was coming. It’s Harry and Ginny, innit?” He grinned crookedly. “It’s Charlie’s fault we’re late.”

 

Behind them, Charlie quietly entered with a quick wink to Hermione.

 

“Charlie!” Molly sobbed. “What took you so long?”

 

Charlie leaned down to hug his mother.

 

“Sorry, we’re late, Mum,” He murmured.

 

“No, no, no,” Molly fussed over her boys. “Ron, you should go and tell them you’ve arrived. We’ve already seen them, but you haven’t. Look at the state of you. You have dirt on your nose.”

 

“What about Charlie?” Ron asked.

 

George spoke up, raising the flask in his hand.

 

“He’s going to need to catch up with the rest of us.”

 

Charlie laughed and went over to hug Bill and George who welcomed him with cackles and hoots. Percy smiled blearily up from where he’d decided to take a seat.

 

Molly followed them, fussing about Charlie’s long hair and hissing at them all to quiet down because it was a hospital, not a pub.

 

“Hermione.” Hermione looked up to find Ron’s eyes boring into her. He had a determined look on his face.

 

“I, um, I got your letter.”

 

“Oh,” Hermione’s heart skipped a beat, remembering her pathetic New Year’s letter campaign.

 

Hermione saw Molly’s eyes widen as Arthur deftly maneuvered her towards a seat.

 

“Happy New Year, um...” Ron faltered, and Hermione was reminded of the thousands of stilted conversations they’d had during their relationship.

 

She suddenly remembered where she’d seen that look of determination, and her stomach dropped at the thought. Was she really as bad as a Boggart?

 

“Thanks,” she said, keenly aware of their not-so-subtle audience.

 

“Well, I suppose I-“

 

“Yes, you should-“

 

“It’s, um, room...”

 

“303.”

 

“Course.”

 

They looked at one another. She could see the new freckles on his nose. He probably noticed the bags under her eyes.

 

Hermione dripped her gaze first, and she heard his footsteps move away down the hall.

 

It was like a silencing charm had been cast over the inside of the room.

 

A loud, wet whistle keened across the room.

 

“Didn’t need two ears to hear how awkward that was.”

 

“George!” Molly scolded, while continuing to look at her former future not-quite daughter-in-law with questions in her eyes. “Hermione, dear-“

 

Hermione sucked in a breath, bracing for impact, when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.

 

“You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

 

She could have hugged Charlie for interrupting.

 

He was a bit pink in the cheeks from either the firewhisky or the roughhousing.

 

“Just a few days,” she replied quickly. Anything to keep whatever was floating around in Molly’s head from coming out of her mouth. Hermione was sure she couldn’t handle it.

 

“I was actually going to call it a night...or day, would probably be more precise,” Hermione continued quickly.

 

Noises of protest, some quite slurred, rose up around the room, but Hermione smiled.

 

“I have work early tomorrow, and I’m sure Ginny and Harry are going to want some peace eventually.”

 

She made the rounds, hugging each of the Weasleys in turn.

 

“I didn’t know you were writing one another again,” Molly said with a sniffle as she pulled Hermione into a hug.

 

“Oh, um.” Hermione hesitated. “It was just the one letter.”

 

“Still,” The matriarch said as she grasped the younger woman by the shoulders. “It’s something.”

 

Hermione didn’t have anything to say, so she said nothing. She turned and was surprised to find Charlie standing by the door.

 

“I’ll walk you out.”

 

“That’s not necessary.”

 

“No, but it’s an easy way for me to distinguish myself as the well-mannered brother,” he responded easily. “Unlike the married one, the uptight one and the rich one over there.”

 

“Wotchit, Charlie,” George called, as Bill grinned in amusement. Percy was now splayed across two chairs and snoring.

 

Charlie grinned broadly as he held the waiting room door open.

 

“Oh, fine,” Hermione agreed with only the slightest blush on her cheeks.

 

They walked towards the Floo entrance in companionable silence. The muted yellow hallways of St. Mungo’s were bustling at this hour. It was almost noon.

 

“So,” Hermione looked over at him. “Charlie Weasley, home twice in a 2 month span. That has to be a record.”

 

Charlie smiled good-naturedly.

 

“Aye.”

 

“You’re going to build up Molly’s hopes. She’s going to start expecting to see you every Sunday at this rate.”

 

He barked a laugh.

 

“Ah, yes, well. She might be getting her wish soon enough.”

 

“Really?” Hermione looked over in surprise.

 

“Can’t be that much of a shock,” Charlie smiled. “I had to come back sometime.”

 

Hermione bit her lip to stop from saying the obvious—no one really thought he would ever come back.

 

“It’ll be a bit of an adjustment, ‘course,” he hedged. “But the sanctuary is in good hands, and I felt like I needed a change.”

 

Hermione’s thoughts immediately jumped to Ron. Would he stay in Romania without his brother? She could ask Charlie, but she’d made it an unspoken rule that they don’t go through third parties asking about one another.

 

It wasn’t her business anymore, in any case. If their earlier interaction were anything to go by, they were barely more than awkward exes now.

 

“Are you staying with George then?”

 

“Yup. Helping him out with the shop.”

 

“That’ll be a change of pace,” Hermione muttered, thinking of the chaos of the Hogsmeade shop.

 

“Aye. Must be that adventurer in me. Always looking for a bit of excitement.” Charlie looked past Hermione and smiled. “Well, here we are.”

 

Hermione smiled as they reached the Floo Network entrance.

 

“Your work is done,” she complimented.

 

“Until next time.”

 

Hermione didn’t really have the heart to tell him how much her attendance at Weasley family events had dropped off.

 

“So well-mannered, Mr. Weasley.”

 

His eyes flickered with something that spoke of mischief.

 

“Aye.”

 

 

 

~ * ~

 

February 4, 2003

Whitehall, London

Ministry of Magic

Auror Department

Monday

 

 

Aside from the scratching of quill nib across the parchment, the room was unforgivably silent. Blaise Zabini watched his childhood friend’s tense brow furrow over his papers.

 

The man was going to go barking mad in here. He had already visibly aged since Blaise last saw him.

 

Blaise suppressed ashudder.

 

He would be on his way to Davos by this evening. Sure, it was work, but champagne with idiot billionaires was still better than a desk job at the Ministry.

 

Blaise ran his hand down his jaw to cover an enormous yawn.

 

“If you are that bored, then leave.”

 

Draco’s voice was gravelly, like he’d been drinking or not sleeping. Probably both by the look of him.

 

“And miss this chance to officially congratulate you on the final stage of your self-martyrdom?” Blaise retorted without ire.

 

“Do I look like I’m in the mood to celebrate.”

 

“Merlin, no,” Blaise huffed. “You look like you'd be happier Petrified.”

 

Draco shot him a warning look over his papers.

 

“I’m sure I can rustle up a Basilisk.” Blaise used his wand to Scourgify some dust off of his cloak. “This building is full of toads. The real challenge will be catching a chicken and getting an egg out of it.”

 

”Shut up.”

 

“Touchy, touchy.” Blaise tsked at his friend and shot a playful look over. “What’s got your wand in a knot? Anything I can take care of?”

 

Blaise rolled his eyes when Draco didn’t rise to his bait.

 

It really wasn’t any fun playing with the man. He was virtually a monk for reasons Blaise didn’t care to understand.

 

“Fucking press,” Draco mumbled under his breath. “Relentless.”

 

Blaise scrunched his brow as he considered the headlines from the past few days. It had all been more of the same.

 

Actually, Draco’s stock had been on the up and up by all accounts.

 

Blaise ran his thumb over his manicured nails and thought about what little Theo had told him.

 

Draco had been engrossed in a case since the first of the year—one that Theo thought had become an obsession.

 

But that wasn’t new. Blaise remembered 6th year.

 

Between Theo and Draco, Blaise knew who to squeeze for information. Unfortunately, Theo was gone.

 

And getting anything out of Draco was like getting blood from a stone.

 

None of this was any fun.

 

“I’m going to take a walk, and when I get back, we are going to lunch.”

 

Draco grumbled assent.

 

“You shouldn’t hunch. You look more like Filch every time I see you.”

 

“Go bother an intern.”

 

 

~ * ~

 

February 4, 2003

Whitehall, London

Ministry of Magic

Ministry of Magic Archives

 

 

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she cleared the last of the outstanding paperwork on her desk. She marked the last box on her morning’s list and smiled at the small column of red checks.

 

She had missed the comfort of office work.

 

It was only just lunch and she was well ahead of schedule.

 

She checked her calendar, which was blessedly devoid of any meetings—a perk of working for one of the least trafficked departments at the Ministry.

 

All things considered, it had been a quiet return to the Ministry for her. Hermione rummaged through her bag for a moment before realizing she’d forgotten to pack a sandwich.

 

She sighed before checking the clock again. She definitely had time to pop over to the pub. No one would notice she was gone in any case.

 

Except for Gladys, of course.

 

She’d just grabbed her coat when she heard an unfamiliar voice outside the office followed by high pitched, feminine giggles.

 

Stepping outside of her office she realized that the tinkling laughter she’d heard had belonged to Gladys, who was chatting with a rather tall man.

 

It took a moment for Hermione to place where she knew him from, but Blaise Zabini was still as distinctively handsome as he’d been in school.

 

And apparently charming the skirt off of Gladys, who looked as happy as Hermione had ever seen her.

 

“Oh! Miss Granger!” The older woman was beaming. “You must come meet Mr. Zabini.”

 

“Please,” Hermione reminded again. “Just Hermione is fine.”

 

“Miss Granger and I are well acquainted,” he winked at Gladys, who continued to beam at him. “Lest you forget that I attended Hogwarts with Theo. And I graduated too.”

 

“Oh, of course,” Gladys sighed. “I forget how young you all are.”

 

“And you are supposed to call me Blaise, or should I be addressing you as Miss Lewis?”

 

Hermione tried not to smile as the normally taciturn woman basked in the attention.

 

“Oh, no. No. That would be too much for me,” Gladys blushed, her hand pressed delicately on her chest.

 

“We must continue to practice then,” he replied with a roguish smile. “But it seems like I have business to attend to.”

 

“Of course,” Gladys began to shuffle papers around her desk. “It’s always a pleasure to see you Mr...Blaise.”

 

He turned to Hermione who immediately glanced back at the door.

 

“Theo isn’t in the office, actually.”

 

“Oh no, Miss Granger—“ he started.

 

“Hermione,” she corrected automatically.

 

“Hermione.” He smiled, this time as if he’d come to a decision. “Delightful. Are you free for lunch? No...plans?”

 

Gladys was still shuffling things around her desk, but she was trying to contain a smile. They looked like two people who had exchanged a secret or two. She’d not know Gladys for an office gossip but supposed there wasn’t much harm. Not much to tell about either her or Theo.

 

“Hmm?” Hermione registered his words. “Me? Lunch?”

 

“Yes,” Blaise looked pointedly at the coat in her arms before meeting her eyes again. “It seems like I caught you on your way out. Meeting anyone?”

 

“Oh,” Hermione looked over to Gladys for assistance to find the woman overly engrossed in her files. “Well...no.”

 

“Well!” Blaise looked excited. “Consider me your new lunch companion!”

 

“Oh, um...”

 

“Please, it would be a way of getting to know you. Theo usually takes me out when I’m in town. He didn’t even have the decency to write that he’s knee deep in dust at Hogwarts, and I’m a bit starved for conversation at the moment.”

 

Hermione considered the man, who she hadn’t seen since graduation. It’s not like she had better plans...or company. And it wouldn’t hurt to get to know Theo’s friends.

 

“Why not?” she said, and immediately felt reassured when she saw a flicker of relief cross his face.

 

“Splendid! Shall we then?”

 

“Oh, um. Gladys, could you—“ Hermione started.

 

“Yes. Yes. Go on.” Gladys shooed the two young people away with her hands. “The Archives won’t fall in an hour. Or even two.”

 

“Wonderful!” Blaise clapped his hands together and gestured towards the exit.

 

“Right,” Hermione mumbled under her breath.

 

They were headed down the hall when Blaise stopped abruptly and snapped his fingers.

 

“I almost forgot a thing. Do you mind if I just grab it quickly?”

 

“Oh no, of course not. Please...” Hermione followed him but stopped abruptly when she realized they were entering the Auror department.

 

“Hermione?”

 

“I-I’m just going to wait out here, if you don’t mind.”

 

“Not at all. I’ll be quick. Law enforcement makes me nervous too.” He winked and then headed down the hallway.

 

Hermione opened her mouth to correct him but he had a long stride and was gone before she knew it.

 

Law enforcement didn’t make her nervous.

 

She stared at the portraits of former Head Aurors hung in the entrance. They always seemed suspicious though some smiled at her as she stood awkwardly hugging her coat.

 

This was the closest she’d been to Malfoy since right after New Years. He was probably out at a meeting or busy heading an investigation. She looked at the already scuffed toes of her new shoes.

 

There were steps heading back down the hall, and she sighed in relief as she recognizedBlaise’s voice. Then she heard the second one.

 

“I’ve got an hour.”

 

“That’s all I’m asking for. One lunch...maybe a pint.”

 

“An hour, Blaise. I’m serious.”

 

“You are the Head Auror now. Doesn’t that at least mean long lunches?”

 

Hermione locked up. Head to toe. Her heart took off like a rabbit fleeing a fox.

 

“Ok, Hermione! I’m back,” Blaise’s cheerful voice so close shocked her enough to look up. “Theo told me you and Draco have buried the hatchet, so to speak. Is it alright if he joins us?”

 

She looked over to where Malfoy was standing, absolutely still. It was nice to know the surprise was mutual.

 

“He forgets to eat,” Blaise continued. “And he’s wasting away.”

 

Draco Malfoy did not, in fact, look like he was wasting away. If anything, seeing him after almost a month just reinforced how much his presence might have affected her.

 

His brow furrowed for a moment, and she realized she hadn’t said anything. She held his gaze and turned her chin up a bit, meeting the unspoken challenge in his eyes.

 

She had dealt with rejection before and survived it. Not gracefully, but still.

 

“And the ‘thing’ you needed to get?” Hermione asked Blaise warily.

 

“Oh, that’s what I call him when he’s being a twat,” Blaise tilted his head in Draco’s direction. “That thing.”

 

Hermione blinked dumbly. Draco grimaced.

 

“Where do you usually eat, Hermione?” Blaise prompted, not noticing the tension in the hallway. “We can just go there.”

 

Malfoy shot a sharp look at his friend.

 

“Oh, um,” Hermione thought of the dark, worn booths in The Smoking Wand and looked at the two extremely polished men standing before her. “Nothing fancy. There’s a pub Ginny and I usually go to, but it’s probably not-.”

 

“The Smoking Wand,” Draco supplied.

 

“You know it?” Hermione tried not to sound surprised.

 

“I know of it,” Draco said shortly. “Never been.”

 

“Perfect!” Blaise cut in easily before Hermione could react to Malfoy’s tone. “I’ve also never been. I love trying new things.”

 

Hermione smiled sheepishly when Blaise angled himself towards the lifts and offered his elbow to her.

 

“And away we go!”

 

She could feel Malfoy’s eyes piercing the back of her head as she took the proffered arm and turned away.

 

It was easy for Hermione to get swept up into conversation with Blaise on their way to lunch. In many ways, he was exactly like what she had envisioned a Slytherin would be before she started at Hogwarts. Sharp, witty, and oozing charm.

 

She was struck by the contrast between him and Malfoy. Where Draco exuded the cool confidence of a blueblood, Blaise was vastly more engaging.

 

His dark features which had been hardened and callous during their school were now softened by easy smiles and words.

 

There was a boyishness in his grin and a sort of hedonistic air about him.

 

Their little group was attracting an inordinate amount of attention as they walked. So much so that it prompted Hermione’s question as soon as they had settled into a, thankfully, larger booth at The Smoking Wand.

 

“Why haven’t you been in _Witch Weekly_?” She addressed Blaise, who grinned immediately.

 

“Straight to the point,” he observed with a ready smile. “Refreshing, don’t you think, Draco?”

 

“Impetuous,” Draco supplied addressing Hermione directly for the first time. “I thought reading gossip rags a bit below your personal standards.”

 

Blaise raised his eyebrows at Draco, who had claimed the seat across from Hermione.

 

”I only meant, well, I mean...” Hermione chose to ignore Malfoy’s swipe and gestured unhelpfully at Blaise’s person to show what she meant. “Objectively speaking.”

 

She couldn’t bring herself to include Draco in the gesture simply because it would be too humiliating. He was plastered on the cover virtually every issue. "He didn't need the ego boost."

 

”I’m flattered, Hermione. And I completely understand what you mean.” Blaise grinned roguishly at her. “I would sell papers.”

 

Draco stood abruptly and walked over to the bar, presumably, to order. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him they could order at the table, but Blaise waved his hand.

 

“Ignore it. It’s the only way to deal with the mood swings.”

 

Hermione shifted uncertainly, watching Draco speak to the barkeep.

 

“And to answer your question,” Blaise continued. “The nature of my profession means that I have the means to keep my name out of the papers.”

 

“Public relations?”

 

“Merlin, no.”

 

“Espionage?”

 

“Like Draco? Definitely not. I prefer not to get my hands too dirty whenever possible. Literally, of course.”

 

Hermione paused.

 

“Is it legal?”

 

“In a manner of speaking.”

 

Hermione’s wide-eyed reaction caused Blaise to laugh.

 

“As if you haven’t bent a rule or two,” he teased lightly.

 

Hermione paused and then shrugged. It was true in any case.

 

“So you bend rules,” she continued.

 

“On my good days,” Blaise demurred. “I’m a private consultant.”

 

At Hermione’s look, he elaborated.

 

“I manage situations for people who would rather have certain information stay out of the public eye.”

 

“Which is...not public relations?”

 

“How can I put it,” Blaise paused for a moment. “What’s the difference between an ordinary invisibility cloak and Potter’s Peverell cloak?”

 

“How,” Hermione started with surprise. “How could you possibly know that?”

 

“It is my job to know.” Blaise leaned back in his seat like a tiger stretching out in the sun. “And I do so love my job.”

 

“You collect information.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And then?”

 

“I advise people who find themselves in...challenging situations.”

 

A piece fell into place in Hermione’s mind. She’d heard of people like Blaise around the Ministry. Private contractors.

 

“It’s a shame I hadn’t known you in 5th Year. I could’ve used a crisis manager.” Hermione thought back to Skeeter’s smear campaign against her during the Triwizard Tournament.

 

“I would have had such fun with you,” Blaise grinned again with a knowing look. “But I heard you managed that pesky, little pest on your own.”

 

“I find that some problems tend to resolve themselves,” she remarked primly but internally gawked. Of course, he would know about the jar.

 

“What an enlightened perspective,” Blaise replied smoothly with a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 

“So have you been the one behind Dra—Malfoy’s comeback narrative?”

 

Blaise's eyebrow rose over Hermione’s verbal stumble.

 

“That ham-fisted campaign is entirely the Ministry’s undertaking. My work is much more subtle.”

 

“And not available even to his closest friends,” Draco interjected, dropping a trio of drinks at the table.

 

Hermione blinked in surprise at the Butterbeer in front of her.

 

“My services require clients to take my advice as rule of law,” Blaise raised his glass in the other man’s direction with a pointed look and then to Hermione.

 

“Draco here, for better or worse, takes after his mother's side." He shot her a considering look. "You would know better than most how willful the Blacks are.”

 

Hermione thought of Sirius with a now familiar ache and nodded distractedly.

 

“I never thought of it that way.” She smiled, looking down at her hands. “Sirius wouldn’t have appreciated his stubbornness being attributed to his blood, but he was as bullheaded as they come.”

 

She heard a rustle and a muffled grunt.

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione.” Blaise apologized. “I didn’t mean to remind you of your losses.”

 

“Hmm?” Hermione shook her head with a small smile. “Oh, no. It’s actually quite nice to talk about him. ‘The ones we love never truly leave us.’ He told Harry that once.”

 

The table lapsed into silence as Hermione got lost in her thoughts.

 

“As much as I enjoy drinking on an empty stomach, do we intend to order any actual food?” Draco drawled, but with considerably less bite than usual. “Some of us have work.”

 

Hermione looked up in surprise.

 

“Sorry! Ginny usually orders,” she stuttered and looked for the menu posted above the bar. “Let me just...”

 

They ordered. Hermione hesitated just slightly when Malfoy asked for a Beef Wellington. Even with magic, it took considerable time to prepare, and a half hour had already passed.

 

He’d simply raised an eyebrow at her when she opened her mouth, challenging her to pick a fight with him.

 

Her mouth snapped shut.

 

It wasn’t worth arguing. She felt liked she was on uneven footing and didn’t trust herself.

 

She peeked over at his profile while he was engaged in discussion with Blaise.

 

Hermione had never had a type, per se. The only boy she had ever really pursued was Ron, which only proved to her that teenagers were idiots.

 

He had a distinctive profile with his father’s high cheekbones and a strong jaw. Hermione gazed at his eyelashes, which were longer than hers could ever hope to be. Despite the dim lighting, she knew his eyes were almost gray.

 

In such close proximity, she was more aware of her heartbeat and the clasping of her hands under the table. Not wanting to risk the possibility of her calf brushing his, she had leaned back as far as her seat would allow.

 

On a purely physical level, she was extremely attracted to Draco Malfoy.

 

That was a sobering thought.

 

Hermione took an enormous gulp of her Butterbeer and choked on the fizzy foam.

 

“Hermione!” Blaise said, pulling himself from his conversation with Draco. “I heard you’re a fine duelist. Maybe the Order’s best.”

 

“Duelist?” Hermione scoffed. “Definitely not the best.”

 

“Really?” Blaise looked surprised. “Didn’t you make up half the spells Potter used during the War?”

 

“An exaggeration.”

 

“Several then.” Blaise smiled. “It’s bloody impressive.”

 

“Desperate times...” Hermione trailed off looking back at her drink. Could she manage a second before returning to the office?

 

Someone cleared their throat and Hermione realized that the two wizards were still staring at her.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Please go on,” Blaise gestured at Hermione to continue. “What about desperate times?”

 

“Oh! Call for desperate measures. Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Hermione felt her cheeks heat at her slip-up. “It’s a Muggle phrase.”

 

“How charming!” Blaise recovered quickly and with renewed interest. “I didn’t realize Muggles had figures of speech like that!”

 

“…Well yes, they have quite a lot, actually.”

 

“I see!” Blaise mulled over this new information, looking not unlike a Niffler with a new coin. Hermione realized that he must not have had much opportunity to interact with the Muggle world. His work was decidedly within the Magical world then.

 

“If you were interested, I could recommend a book of idioms for you,” she offered automatically.

 

“I’d be very interested in that,” Blaise replied with a smile that reached all the way to his eyes.

 

“If you are quite finished fawning over cultural differences...”

 

Malfoy was leaned back in his chair. He was glaring at Blaise in a way that made Hermione wish she’d been listening to what they were discussing.

 

“‘Cultural differences.’” Hermione deadpanned.

 

Malfoy paled slightly.

 

“Actually, Hermione, Draco is right. I got a bit sidetracked.” Blaise continued. “Draco was just mentioning that he was having a bit of a crisis in the Auror Department."

 

“Blaise,” Draco warned.

 

“You have the solution sitting right here! I never understand why you insist on taking the most difficult route.”

 

“What is it?” Hermione’s curiosity was piqued.

 

“Nothing,” Draco replied automatically.

 

“Potter’s absence is being keenly felt on the training floor,” Blaise interjected. “Draco’s been filling in because they haven’t been able to locate a suitable replacement.”

 

“But they’ve known Harry would be out for months, even before the New Year,” Hermione said.

 

The corners of Malfoy’s ears turned pink, and he glowered into his glass.

 

“No one wants to fill in for the Man Who Defeated the Dark Lord,” he said neutrally. “It’s a temporary inconvenience. Nothing more.”

 

For the first time that day, Hermione spotted a flash of worry cross Blaise’s face as he looked over at his friend.

 

Hermione took a closer look at Malfoy. He did look a bit wane now that she was sitting across from him. And he might have lost a bit of weight. Her heart tugged inside of her ribcage.

 

She bit her lip as she quickly considered the options.

 

“Well,” she started, fiddling with the handle of her mug. “I do have a bit of free time.”

 

At the incredulous look from Malfoy, she backtracked.

 

“I mean, I have work, but it’s not terribly demanding at the moment. Nothing like heading a department.”

 

Her stomach fluttered as she waited for his response. His mouth was open slightly, and she realized he was lost for words.

 

“Brilliant!” Blaise exclaimed, grasped Hermione’s hand over the table.

 

“Watch it!” The barkeep appeared with plates.

 

Hermione slipped her hand out of Blaise’s to allow her plate to be set down in front of her.

 

Draco blinked as his dish was set down before him, still seemingly lost in his thoughts.

 

Blaise dove enthusiastically into his pie, still going on about how excellent Hermione would be as a trainer.

 

Her heart began to race as she waited for Draco to say anything to acknowledge her open offer. He picked up his knife and fork and began to methodically deconstruct his food.

 

“You can start tomorrow then,” He said shortly before taking a bite.

 

Hermione’s heart sunk when he didn't even make eye contact with her.

 

Merlin, what had she done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! My schedule opened up a bit, so I'm hoping to start updating regularly. This one was delayed because I wanted to get our favorite twosome back in the same room. Nothing like the stomach-dropping feeling of intense, unrequited attraction.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

February 4, 2003  
Whitehall, London  
Ministry of Magic  
Auror Department

  
Draco turned silently as soon as the latch on his office door locked into place. He’d been itching to throttle Blaise since the man had appeared unannounced in his doorway that morning. Lunch had kicked Draco squarely across the line from irritated to furious.

Not only had he paid for the pleasure of watching Zabini flirt with Hermione Granger. He’d watched her blossom under the attention of another wizard while resolutely ignoring him.

Blaise sighed as he dropped into a chair.

“Get it out of your system.”

As he wrestled internally for control, Draco’s hand fisted so hard he could feel nails cutting into his palm.

He should’ve turned around when he’d seen the top of her bushy head. He should have eaten lunch at his desk.

Instead, he followed her out of the Ministry like an Amortentia-dosed fool.

He’d drunk her in like a man cursed to die of thirst, cataloguing every strand of hair out of place and noting the flush in her cheek, the softness of her skin and the faded dusting of freckles across her nose. Being boiled slowly in a cauldron would have been a lesser torture.

The two-week fuck off from her was a clear sign that she didn’t want anything to do with him. He’d never seen Hermione Granger run from anything as she had from him in Theo’s office.

Draco refocused on the matter at hand, which was how he was going to castrate the man seated in front of him.

“For someone who eschews authority, you seem quite comfortable running my department for me,” he said softly.

“Just being a mate,” Blaise smiled, and Draco’s eye twitched. “I saw an easy fix. You never know when to ask for help.”

Draco felt his magic crackle at the jab. Blaise’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“You’ll need to release some of that. Been at the desk too long.”

“The training room is open,” Draco offered, imagining what sorts of Ministry-sanctioned hexes would do the most damage.

“Lover, not a fighter,” Blaise replied smoothly, referring to himself. Draco sneered.

Blaise was incapable of moving through a room without finding someone he wanted to fuck. He’d always attributed Draco’s temper to being a prude and had ended up hexed several times in the past for mentioning it. Draco cracked a knuckle on his left hand.

Soon after the Dark Lord returned, the git had fled to his family’s villa if so their absence wasn’t missed.

Draco tried hard not to hold it against him.

“There are so many ways, other than fighting, to blow off a little steam. I literally and figuratively don’t understand your lifestyle,” Blaise continued. “Even Granger is less frigid.”

Draco growled and an ink pot on his desk cracked. He didn’t want to hear her name from Blaise’s mouth. Not after watching the man’s nauseating display at lunch.

“For fuck’s sake. Forget I said anything.” Blaise rolled his eyes and repaired the glass. “I did you a favor.”

Draco kept his sneer.

“If I remember correctly, she was an adept duelist even at school.”

“Of course she was.” You fucking tosser, he added internally.

“And she works down the hall.”

“Obviously.”

“She’s trustworthy.”

“To a fault.”

“And resourceful,” Blaise grinned like he had a secret. Draco felt a something possessive wrap around his chest and squeeze.

“And you don’t care that she’s Muggleborn.”

Draco shot him a withering look.  
  
“So then what’s the problem?” Blaise prodded. “You need a second until Potter gets back, and he doesn’t seem like someone who’s going to get a House Elf to do the dirty work for him.”

Blaise scrunched his face, evidently at the thought of caring for a child.

Draco ran his hands through his hair. He leaned heavily into his chair and groaned. Weeks into the most important time of his career, and it was all going incredibly to shit.

He couldn’t afford the distraction.

“Your catastrophic thinking notwithstanding,” Blaise continued. “She’s delightful.”

“I know.” The words slipped out before Draco could stop them. A normal wizard wouldn’t have noticed, but Blaise was like a werewolf to blood. The tone was too affected. Draco knew he fucked up even before he saw the other man’s jaw go slightly slack.

Blaise’s eyes bored into his skull, but Draco refused to give anything more away. Not that it would help. The damage was done.

Theo finding out was inevitable and virtually harmless. Blaise was...a different matter. A spark of interest flickered in the man’s dark eyes.

What had Theo called Blaise before? Neutral chaotic.

A reference to a sorting system invented by a Squib in a basement in America. Theo had read about it in an old Muggle magazine. Dungeons and Dragons. That was it. Dead giveaway—that name. MACUSA should have been all over that.

“You want...the most famous Muggleborn in the history of the world,” Blaise remarked with growing amusement.

Blaise used secrets as currency in thousands of little games he arranged to keep himself entertained. Untethered by a moral code. Unpredictable. Patient. Draco would have to handle this one carefully, friend or not.

“Blaise, I don’t know what—“

“You really are a fucking masochist,” Blaise mused as if he had confirmed something. “This is worse than when you had a hard-on for Bulstrode.”

Draco fought to stay in his seat as a shit-eating grin spread across his friend’s face. It was hard to remember why or how they were friends at all. That was fourth fucking year.

“I did not have a hard-on for Millicent Bulstrode.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to handle her. Millie would have snapped your cock off. Big into witches now, you know?”

Blaise looked over when Draco didn’t respond and rolled his eyes.

“Just the one wet dream about Bulstrode then,” Blaise capitulated. “But it taught you to silence your bed at night, didn’t it?”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up-”

“At least you’re making some progress. With what Granger has going on under those robes, those dreams are about to get significantly more enjoyable.”

The ink pot exploded, sending ink streaming across the desk.

“I guess that explains the outbursts,” Blaise continued unaffected, as he watched the black spread across the marble. Draco cursed and stood to Scourgify his robes.

Blaise tilted his head to the side in thought, giving Draco time to get his shit together.

Too easily provoked. Out of control. Vulnerable.

“Here’s what we are going to do,” Blaise relaxed into a lounging position, which sent Draco’s blood pressure higher. “I’m going to take you as a client.”

Blaise barely paused at the incredulous look Draco shot at him.

“Fine. Pro bono.” Blaise drew his wand between his fingers. He glanced over at Draco with a pointed look telling him to take a seat.

Draco saw the motion for what it was, Blaise’s idea of an opener to negotiations. He took a deep breath and sat back down in his chair with a smirk of his own. Time to play.

Draco cast a condescending look across the table.

“As always, you have overstayed your welcome, Zabini. I’ll be happy to see you again in another, let’s say, six months.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen,” Blaise twisted his wand in his hand. “You are going to hire me as your consultant.”

”If you think for a second that I would trust you farther than I could curse you—”

”That’s just unnecessarily dramatic.” Blaise admonished. “Knowing you, you’ve probably already fucked it up somehow. I am here to unfuck it up.”

“Could have used your assistance when I actually needed it. When I was the most hated man in Britain,” Draco growled. “Not for this shit.”

“Redemption arcs write themselves. Where’s the fun in that?” Blaise replied. “This, however, is something I am well equipped to handle. More importantly, I’m intrigued.”

“No.”

For the first time since lunch, Draco saw a flicker of irritation cross Blaise’s face.

“You are missing a huge opportunity here, and I don’t mean working with me.”

Draco was saved the trouble of responding when a Ministry letter squeezed under the door and dropped into his lap.

Ignoring Blaise, Draco used his letter opener to slice open the folded note at the seal.

  
~*~

Auror Malfoy,

Thank you for lunch.

In preparation for tomorrow, would it be possible for me to access the training rooms today?

I would like very much not to embarrass myself tomorrow.

Best,  
Hermione

~*~

  
“I’m only slightly irritated that I didn’t predict this earlier. She’s always gotten under your skin.” Blaise cast a knowing look at the desk. Draco ignored him as he processed the letter’s contents.

Of course, she wanted to prepare.

Draco quickly pulled a piece of parchment and reached for his quill. It was only after a few dips of the quill against empty air that Draco realized his inkpot was still eviscerated.

A muffled chuckle from across the table was resolutely ignored as Draco slid open a drawer to withdraw a self-inking quill.

He glared pointedly at Blaise as he secured the note with his personal seal. With a flick of his wrist, Draco sent it off towards the outer hallway.

“Show off.”

“Jealous?” Draco knew wandless magic was still a rarity in the general population.

Blaise tilted his head with a raised eyebrow as he ran his fingers over his wand.

“Of the power, always. Of what was needed to achieve it...no.”

Draco glanced down at his wand hand resting on the table. His capacity for wandless magic was an open secret.

Historically those who possessed the power rarely wanted to be the subject of study, so there was little to no academic understanding of its origins. In place of truth, wizards had composed stories, of course. Hogwarts, as it often did, found itself at the center of such whispered legends.

“Never took you as a believer in folktales,” Draco watched his friend’s face turn serious.

“After what happened during the War, I think you and I both know that even the tallest of tales have roots in truth.”

“You know best,” Draco said it sardonically but realized that Blaise probably did know better than most.

A thought began forming in Draco’s head as he looked at arguably the most dangerous of his childhood friends. Unlike the majority of the people In Draco’s current circle, Blaise dealt in shadow and secrets. With the departure of the Potters and an Auror department made lazy by peacetime, Draco knew that he was in a precarious position if there was a credible threat.

There had been no subsequent incidents with the runes, but the event had left a sour taste in his mouth.

With a mostly untested Auror Department to run and a dearth of personal allies, Draco had felt unsettled. Hermione Granger was a distraction, but Blaise was right—she always had been.

Draco weighed the balance of probability and sighed internally as he realized the path forward.

“If you insist on staying here—“ Draco started.

“Don’t see how you’d stop me,” Blaise quipped.

“If I allow you to stay, it will be an exchange. I think we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Well,” Blaise’s face split into a wide grin. “That depends entirely on what ‘exchange’ you are seeking to make. I’m not cheap. Or fair.”

Draco felt the tendrils of another consciousness poking around the edges of his mind. He smirked.

“That’s cute.”

“Can’t blame a wizard for trying. You know I’m a slave to my curiosity.” Blaise shrugged.

“I need someone who has access to information.”

“I do appreciate vague,” Blaise mulled over the offer. “You are making quite an assumption about how much I care about your sex life.”

“You’re bored,” Draco followed up easily. “And you’ve always been obsessed with my...personal choices.”

Blaise smirked at Draco’s turn of phrase.

“So you are going to let me play matchmaker.”

“I will allow you to try.”

“How generous.”

“And I’m only paying you if you sign on as a Ministry consultant.”

“And ruin my reputation by openly associating with the Ministry of Magic? Let’s not.”

“Fine.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll allow me a day to think it over,” Blaise said.

“Davos is beautiful this time of year. I’m sure you already have someone or a number of someones lined up to occupy your time. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

Draco used the rare opportunity of Blaise’s silence to vanish the mess created by his little outburst. He conjured an identical inkpot as he waited.

He’d have to send for more ink.

“I want access to Narcissa.”

Draco visibly bristled at the informality of Blaise’s address.

“I’m not my mother’s keeper,” he bit out.

“Aren’t you?” Blaise kept his voice carefully neutral.

“She’s not up for whatever you are planning.”

“You don’t know that,” Blaise responded carefully. “You’re not giving her enough credit. She lied to the Dark Lord’s face at the peak of his power.”

“She hasn’t left the Manor in five years.”

“To do what? Rejoin the ranks of simpering Pureblood widows jostling for advantageous marriages for their unfortunate children.”

Draco’s lips thinned in a line as he considered Blaise’s point. He realized he hadn’t actually spoken to his mother about her plans. Their relationship wasn’t one of discussion.

Blaise was an inordinately perceptive individual, which was a large part of why Draco wanted his ear to the ground.

Draco gritted his teeth at the dual realization that Blaise had a valid point and that he would have to make a decision now.

Across the table, Blaise was looking smug.

“Bit rusty. Playing with too many Gryffindors?”

“One dinner with my mother. If I catch a whiff of you manipulating her...” Draco let the threat hang in the air.

“How’s tomorrow evening?”

“I’ll see if she’s free.”

“I’ll cancel my Portkey.”

“Wonderful.”

They both stood, Draco intending on getting his guest out the door so he could salvage the work day. Blaise tapped the books on his shelf.

“One last thing,” Blaise said with a lopsided grin.

Draco continued to walk towards the door, refusing to engage.

“You’ve always gotten under her skin too.”

Blaise blew a mocking kiss and left his office. Draco stood dumbly in the doorway before shaking his head and returning to his desk.

  
~~~  *  ~~~

  
Later that evening…  
9:00 pm  
Auror Department  
Training Room B

  
“Confringo!”

The wooden, wand-carrying dummy exploded in a shower of splinters and the room fell silent. A faint beeping indicated the end of the session.

Hermione rolled onto her back, panting heavily. She was beyond rusty.

And covered in bruises.

She winced slightly as she pulled herself up to a seated position. Her abs were sore too.

Hermione had waited until the trainees had gone home before slipping into the training rooms. In contrast to the bustling main office, the training room she’d chosen was silent and still.

She’d slowly worked her way through offensive and defensive spells and into some of the more physically demanding evasive techniques she’d developed.

She hadn’t been in a serious duel since the War. When Blaise had brought up Auror training, she’d assumed he was joking.

But as she scanned through what she knew of the ranking Aurors in London, she’d found she was more experienced than most, if not all, of them.

They had lost most of the veteran Aurors either as casualties during the War or to a well-earned retirement. Most of the surviving Order had chosen careers far removed from anything resembling combat.

Malfoy had said no one wanted to fill in for Harry. Hermione would never have thought that would be a problem.

Ginny, Neville, and Luna had stepped up to run DA without hesitation when she, Harry and Ron went on the run. They had been teenagers.

She couldn’t imagine no one in a whole group of trained wizards and witches stepping in to cover a colleague’s work.

Her hands had fidgeted on her desk until she finally wrote a message to Malfoy asking to use the training rooms.

His short reply had confirmed she had access to the department. It was signed formally, and her heart sank a little.

But it had given her something to look forward to on an otherwise dull day. Despite her apprehension at lunch, Malfoy had been completely professional. She could be professional too.

Done with dwelling on the unfixable, she called her water bottle over and took a long drink before capping it. One more round should do it. Then she’d head home.

She stood shakily and bent down to dust off her trainers. A quick run over with a cleaning spell took care of the grime on her top.

Something clattered to the floor behind her and she spun around, wand drawn.

Her eyes widened at Malfoy standing in the doorway to the training room. Hermione’s eyes flew to the clock on the wall.

She’d been here for two hours?

“I didn’t realize it was so late!”

“What?” Draco had bent down to pick up his wand where he’d dropped it.

Hermione looked around to see if there was anything she needed to fix, but the room had already reset itself after the last session. Ingenious design, really.

But it left her with nothing to do but converse with Draco Malfoy in a, most likely, empty Department. In a soundproofed room. The door was open at least.

Despite her brain sending off alarms, her body suddenly fell warm.

He was still wearing his uniform, but the top buttons of his shirt were undone and his tie loosened. He was checking his wand over, and she was distracted by the visible cords in his neck. He looked as tense as she felt.

She’d never really paid attention to the Auror uniform, but it was almost as good as Quidditch robes. Hermione stopped herself for traveling too far down that road.

“Are you closing up?” she spoke up politely.

“‘Closing?’” Draco repeated her words slowly, his eyes scanning her dusty leggings. She refused to blush.

She’d been practicing, ostensibly to help him. He could deal with her ratty clothes.

He blinked twice before she realized what she said.

She pressed her eyes shut in mortification. The Ministry of Magic didn’t need closing. It was magic.

“I mean, do you need me to leave?” she asked.

Draco’s hand flexed and a few sparks flew from his fingertips. Hermione recognized the symptoms of excess magic build-up. He was literally overflowing with power, which, considering the nature of work, meant his capacity for magic must be considerable.

Her lower muscles clenched reflexively and she held onto a gasp of shock at her body’s response.

Not good.

“Hermione.”

Not good.

Hermione met his eyes, only to find him looking at her intently.

“Are you tired?” His voice was husky and low.

She blinked.

Yes.

“No,” her voice sounded breathless.

He cracked his neck and nodded towards the room.

“One round?”

Hermione felt her pulse pick up. She swallowed, trying to get some moisture back in her throat, and nodded.

He stepped into the room and methodically began to remove his outer robes and vanish them, leaving his Oxford shirt and trousers. The logical part of Hermione’s brain recognized that he was preparing for a duel, but there was something incredibly intimate about watching him remove his cufflinks and roll up his sleeves.

She realized that she’d have an advantage in terms of maneuverability with her attire, dirty as it was.

The objects on the room began rearranging and changing themselves. Hermione was distracted from worrying about clothing when she realized what the training room was fashioning itself into.

It was a bookstore. They were going to duel in a bookstore.

The shelves grew tall and anchored to the walls and ceilings, creating a maze and reducing visibility. Desks and chairs appeared randomly in little reading nooks.

It was a beautiful shop. Hermione looked around in wonder. What charms had they used to make this room? It reminded her of the Room of Requirement.

“Felt like I’d give you the home advantage.”

Draco stepped into the aisle across from her and executed a deep bow. She responded with her own unpracticed one.

She had to remind herself that the books weren’t real.

She glared at him.

The bell indicating the start of a new session rang out across the silent room. The door locked itself and disappeared.

Hermione tensed in anticipation, but he didn’t move a muscle. She couldn’t stand the concern written on his face. She shook her head again.

She knew precious little about Draco’s dueling style, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to give anything away by going first.

He was waiting because of course he was.

She tested the waters with a series of wordless disarming spells, cutting arches through the air with her wand.

Malfoy dispatched them quickly with a few flicks of his wrist, not altering his stance at all.

She tried another combination of spells. Having the shelves on either end of her was limited her range of movement.

He barely needed to cast to deflect them.

“You do know I’m Head Auror,” he teased. “You can try a little harder.”

He shot a few disarming spells at her that she blocked easily with a simple, shield charm. A few books shot off the shelf where the spells impacted them.

“Or we can continue pretending we are second-year students at our first duel,” he goaded.

She stepped forward aggressively, sending off another flurry of spells in rapid succession.

“I didn’t know Head Aurors talked so much during duels,” she retorted sarcastically.

She added a hex at the end as punctuation.

He did have to move this time, but he grinned as the books near him exploded in a flurry of pages. He shifted back into a loose defensive stance.

“That’s my girl.”

Hermione was torn between irritation and arousal, two emotions that tended to come hand-in-hand with Draco Malfoy. She watched the arch of his wand and had to roll to dodge the shelf that he tipped over at her.

It crashed into the next shelf over and threw its contents to the ground.

 _Avis. Oppugno Avis_. Hermione braced for the shotgun sound that accompanied the first charm. The birds, transfigured from the ruined books, launched into the air.

She vanished the bookshelf blocking her view in time to see him immobilize the flock midair and turn them to...was that ice?

Her little conjured birds reflected the light like glass, and then with a wave of his wand, Draco exploded then into a flurry of snow crystals above their heads that began to drift down to the floor. It was a beautiful bit of magic.

Distracted by his spellwork, Hermione didn’t see the wordless stinging hex until it struck her in the upper arm. She yelped in indignation, frustrated that he had gotten the first strike.

She hadn’t considered wandless magic, but if he was going to be a sneak...

He was already beginning his next spell when she threw up her hand and vaporized the falling snowflakes into a thick mist, eliminating visibility in the room.

He actually laughed out loud. She could hear his boots hitting the floor on the far side of the room.

“Clever,” he purred, and she felt it straight down to her core.

She cursed under her breath and cast a concealment charm on herself. Instead of matching the caster to their external environment, it worked by bending light around the caster. It meant she could move and remain invisible.

It wasn’t foolproof though. She breathed out unsteadily and watched the mist spiral off from her exhalation. She had a degree of stealth, but not much. She cast a _Silencio_ on her trainers and crept towards the faint sounds of dragon hide boots, sticking close to the oak bookshelves. She cut a random path through different aisles, circling closer to the sound.

Seconds dragged into minutes as she inched across the room. She could be patient. She could win this with patience.

Hermione put her hand out for a bookshelf only to find that the aisle had ended, leaving her in an enclave of some sort. She inhaled slowly and then stepped into the open space.

The sounds of the boots abruptly stopped. He’d cast his own silencing charm. Like he knew she was close. It was a trap.

She cast _Homenum Revelio_ non-verbally, but there wasn’t anyone in front of her.

“ _Revelio_ ,” a disembodied whisper came from somewhere close. Hermione felt the cold, wet feeling of being stripped of concealment travel from her head to her toes. “Found you.”

“ _Lumos Solem_!” Hermione directed the beam of blindingly bright light in the direction of his voice, hoping at the very least, to disorient him. Reflexively she cast a protection charm, but a red jet of light came from yet another angle. Her wand shot off into the air.

“ _Finite_.” The mist that had filled the room condensed as droplets, falling around the room like rain. It revealed Malfoy, who was standing within a meter of her at her back. He was holding her vine wood wand between his fingers.

She spun around, ready to launch herself at the hand holding her wand.

“Beep. Beep. Beep. This concludes your practice session. Please visit the training counter to access video playback of your session.”

She’d lost.

He had his wand sheathed already, which only made Hermione feel even more inadequate. Like she wasn’t a threat without her wand.

Soaked from head to toe, wandless and breathless, Hermione glared at him. She was so incensed, she didn’t notice the moisture on her skin rising like steam.

“How,” she started, letting her frustration bleed into her voice. “did you find me?”

He smirked at her, and she tried to ignore how water was dripping from his hair and how his shirt had become somewhat transparent. She had gotten bested in her first duel in years, and it stung.

“Vibratius _Revelio_ ,” he said slowly like he was feeling the syllables out with his mouth.

Hermione didn’t recognize the spell immediately, and she froze as she tried to parse it out. It had the same root as a spell she’d worked on a long time ago.

“That’s…That’s my spell!” she said with sudden understanding.

“No,” he responded, still smirking. “It’s my spell. Good, isn’t it?”

He makes spells too. A little voice inside her head whispered.

“Give me my wand,” she demanded, approaching him with her hand out.

“And get myself hexed?” he replied with an eyebrow raised. “You’re too worked up.”

“I. Am. Not!” The last word came out as a shriek. She stepped closer to him reaching out to summon her wand back, only that he then vanished it into thin air.

They both stared at his hand, where the wand had been.

He met her eyes first.

“You would have hexed me.”

She stepped forward and pushed him. He stumbled backward in shock. Hermione hadn’t resorted to Muggle fighting since she had punched him in 3rd year. He absolutely brought out the worst in her.

He was staring at her with nothing on his face.

“What!” she shouted at him, finally letting her tears come to the surface. His eyes widened.

“Hermione…” he started.

“Give me my wand! I want to go home.” Big, fat tears started pouring down her cheeks. She’d been too worked up. She couldn’t do this anymore.

Draco had frozen like a stone statue at the outpouring of emotion.

“Why are you upset?”

She choked on a sob and turned to try to figure out how to get out of there. Was it even possible without her wand? She could Apparate and walk home. That was a plan.

“Wait, Hermione!” He was following her.

The fact that he was using her given name actually physically hurt.

“Are you hurt?”

She sobbed harder, shaking her head. He grabbed her gently by her elbow and she stopped.

“It’s nothing. I’m j-just,” she looked up at the ceiling, trying to get control of her breathing and will the tears back into her eyes. Instead, they streamed down the side of her face. “I hate losing,” she mumbled lamely.

She felt a brush of calloused fingers across her cheek and realized that Draco had stepped closer to her. Her breath hitched unsteadily as he used his fingers to wipe away the tears on her face.

Hermione couldn’t help leaning into his touch. As he stepped in closer to frame her body with his, she remembered the walk home at Christmas and how she’d hugged him by almost-accident. That seemed like ages ago.

She hiccuped and her breathing slowed as she felt herself calm down.

It struck her again how natural this felt and how much she wanted this.

He pulled his hands away slowly, and she tried to be ok with the loss of contact. He met her eyes for a moment before dropping his gaze. Hermione felt her disappointment burn in her stomach like acid. It was time to go.

“Well, I’m not sure I would contribute much to your instruction, but I can help with demonstration and working with trainees on posture and wand work.”

She rambled as she backed away, needing to extract herself from the situation. She felt wrung out and exhausted. A glass of wine and eight hours of uninterrupted sleep—that’s what she needed.

His arm locked around her waist and pulled her close. She looked up at him in surprise.

Draco hesitated before moving his hand to cup her cheek again.

She looked up into his face with wide eyes. He held her gaze for a moment like he was searching for something, and she waited. He leaned in so close she could feel the heat from his body and she closed her eyes. She tilted her head up.

“I was going to write to you.”

Hermione blinked slowly, not understanding.

“About what?”

“I was,” he pressed his eyes closed and rested his forehead against hers, causing her heart to beat rapidly. “I was going to ask if I could.”

He stopped again.

“Draco.”

“Yes, sorry.” He swallowed again. “I was wondering if I could court you.”

Hermione jerked back her head to look at him.

“What?” she asked.

“Merlin, you infuriating witch,” he mumbled, unable to meet her eyes. “You heard what I said.”

“I know, yes, I mean, I heard you,” Hermione muttered, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. “You want to court me.”

“Yes.”

“Not date, but court,” she sought clarification.

“Malfoys don’t date,” he recited automatically.

She glared him, unimpressed, and he managed to look slightly sheepish.

“Malfoys don’t do a lot of things,” she reminded.

“Point taken.”

“I don’t know what courting means really,” She leaned back to look at him and was secretly pleased to note that his hand didn’t move from her waist.

“Muggles don’t court?”

“Not since the 1800s.”

“Oh, well then.” Draco paused. “Shit.”

“I mean, I know about Theo and Luna courting,” she paused. “Would you call them orthodox?”

“I’d never call Lovegood orthodox. Sorry, I mean, yes courtship generally follows a certain set of guidelines,” he actually looked like he was in pain answering her questions.

Good. He deserved it.

“Is that why you didn’t come in on New Years?”

“What?” He looked at her blankly.

“New Years,” she blushed even as she said it. “I invited you into my flat.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t invite me into your flat,” he insisted hollowly. “You kissed me on the cheek and went inside. Then I got called to work.”

“You went to work on New Years Day?” That was new information. He really was busy.

“You didn’t invite me in,” he repeated.  
  
“It was an unspoken invitation,” she stated stubbornly. “Generally one doesn’t have to spell it out.”

There was a heavy silence between the two of them.

“In the future, if there is such an invitation,” Draco closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Make it a spoken one.”

When he opened his eyes, they had darkened to molten silver. Hermione felt it like a shock of electricity to her system.

“Ok.”

“I need you to say it,” he repeated with a new urgency in his voice. The words hung in the space between them.

“What, now?”

“Now.”

“I want you to come over,” she whispered.

Hermione barely got the words out before he pressed her up against the wall and captured her lips with his. She moaned loudly as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

His arms had her pinned, but his lips were soft and insistent against hers. Hermione was dizzy from the rush of sensation as he ran his tongue along the seam of her lips.

She could have cried in relief when she felt his hand pull her cotton top up and make contact with the bare skin of her waist. Hermione ran her finger through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he jerked in her embrace.

“I’m going to Apparate us,” he said between kisses. He kissed a path down her jaw and buried his face on her neck.

Hermione gasped as goosebumps formed on her arms and down her legs as he sucked at the nape of her neck. The ache between her legs was demanding attention. She realized vaguely that though they were alone in this room, they were one soundproofed wall away from a very active Ministry department.

She nodded sluggishly, reluctant to break contact.

“Your robes,” she mumbled.

“Fuck them,” he responded, his grasp on her tightened.

“Wait! You can’t Apparate outside of my flat.”

That did cause him to pause, and she felt him take a steadying breath that tickled her neck.

“Take me to your place,” she breathed out suddenly.

“Thank, Merlin,” he groaned. “Accio.” His hand shot out and the soft, heavy fabric of wizard’s robes wrapped around them.

She felt the jerk in her navel and heard the pop of Apparition as they left the Ministry of Magic.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so I have to preface this chapter with a notification that the rating of this fic has changed from Mature to Explicit to be safe.
> 
> It's what I would call a light Explicit...maybe? It's 2019, and my muse is all out of fucks to give.
> 
> If you don't want to risk it, wait for my next update. There's no plot in here.
> 
> That being said. Thank you for the lovely notes and feedback! 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~D

 

 

 

Chapter 17

 

_“I’m going to Apparate us,” he said between kisses. He kissed a path down her jaw and buried his face on her neck._

 

_Hermione gasped as goosebumps formed on her arms and down her legs as he sucked at the nape of her neck. The ache between her legs was demanding attention. She realized vaguely that though they were alone in this room, they were one soundproofed wall away from a very active Ministry department._

 

_She nodded sluggishly, reluctant to break contact._

 

_“Your robes,” she mumbled._

 

_“Fuck them,” he responded, his grasp on her tightened._

 

_“Wait! You can’t Apparate outside of my flat.”_

 

_That did cause him to pause, and she felt him take a steadying breath that tickled her neck._

 

_“Take me to your place,” she breathed out suddenly._

 

_“Thank, Merlin,” he groaned. “Accio.” His hand shot out and the soft, heavy fabric of wizard’s robes wrapped around them._

 

_She felt the jerk in her navel and heard the pop of Apparition as they left the Ministry of Magic._

 

 

~~~ * ~~~

 

 

February 4, 2003

Draco Malfoy’s Flat

Belgravia

 

 

Hermione stumbled as her feet met an unfamiliar plush carpet, but his hands steadied her. The room they Apparated into was pitch black, but Hermione barely noticed.

 

She leaned up to press her lips to his insistently. His Auror robes hit the floor as he grasped her face in his hands to deepen their contact. Hermione ran her tongue over his bottom lip and sucked.

 

She wanted his clothes off. She wanted him on a bed.

 

Malfoy seemed to be on the same page, as he quickly maneuvered them across the dark room. The back of her knees suddenly met the edge of his bed and she tumbled down onto the smooth sheets.

 

Hermione scrambled back, pulling herself fully onto the mattress and hoping he would follow.

 

A dim light filled the room, and she looked up to see him standing at the foot of the bed. He was tossing his wand onto a nearby bureau, giving her a view of his profile. She felt a feminine pride at his mussed hair and disheveled clothes.

 

“I need to see you,” his voice was raw and husky, and it sent a shiver of anticipation across her skin.

 

He met her eyes briefly before dragging his gaze down her body. She felt the weight of his stare down to her toes. Draco was right when he’d said she was too worked up. Her nipples strained against the material of her bra and her core ached.

 

Hermione crossed her legs self consciously, and his eyes narrowed as if he could read her.

 

He brought his hand to his tie and began to loosen it.

 

“No,” she managed to croak out, and he stilled. “Let me.”

 

He paused with an indecipherable look before putting his knee up on the bed. She swallowed heavily as he crawled up the bed, brushing her thighs with his until his body was framing hers.His palms pushed into the mattress on either of her shoulders and she felt the heat radiating from him.

 

She reached up with an unsteady hand to hold the knot of his tie. He looked at her face as she tasked herself with pulling the loop of his tie wide and over his head.

 

Hermione had barely gotten the silky strip of fabric off of him when he bent down to kiss her again. He smelled like bergamot, forest, and something uniquely him. She moaned wantonly, arching up to push her breasts against his chest.

 

Draco placed a hand on her shoulder to keep her from making contact and she groaned in frustration.

 

“You haven’t finished yet.” He looked down at his shirt and then back at her expectantly.

 

Hermione scowled at him but reached up to slip the buttons from their holes. He leaned down to kiss her on the forehead while she worked.

 

“Good girl,” he cooed. A shiver ran down Hermione’s spine at the praise and she closed her eyes against the sensation. She could feel her arousal seeping into her panties.

 

“Liked that, did you?” She could hear the smirk in his voice, and her eyes snapped open.

 

“Off,” she demanded bossily, pushing the shirt off his shoulders.

 

He leaned back until he was straddling her hips and pulled the shirt the rest of the way off. Hermione ran her eyes hungrily over his toned chest and abs until she was distracted by the prominent bulge in his trousers. Her eyes widened, and it twitched. Draco groaned.

 

“If you keep looking at it like that, we are going to have an early night.”

 

Hermione looked back up at him blankly and licked her lips. His eyes were fixed on her mouth.

 

“You said I needed to finish my task,” she murmured, reaching out a hand to the clasp at the top of his trousers.

 

“Not yet.”

 

He grabbed her hand and pinned it back behind her head, which also happened to put his face near hers again. She leaned up and licked his jaw playfully, and he captured her lips again.

 

Hermione ran her hands up his torso, feeling the muscles tense under her touch. He was still holding himself at a distance, and that wouldn’t do. She wanted to feel every inch of him against her.

 

While he was distracted, she hooked her leg around the back of his knee and pulled down until his legs gave out. She lifted her hips and ground her hips into his.

 

Even through layers of clothing, the feeling of his hard length against her sent fire shooting through her system.

 

Draco cursed as his knees gave out and his hips jerked reflexively, causing her to cry out as he brushed against her core again. His jaw clenched. He closed his eyes and repeated the motion, pulling a gasp from her.

 

“Fuck,” he gritted out. “I’m two seconds away from binding you to this bed.”

 

“Draco,” Hermione felt herself begging. She was having trouble piecing thoughts together.

 

“You’re still clothed,” he pulled back to look at her. She moaned again, and he frowned slightly.

 

He leaned down and kissed her gently. She mewled as he pulled away too soon.

 

“I’ll take care of you,” he breathed out. “Be good.”

 

Hermione whimpered but unlocked her legs from his and tried to lay still. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe some sense back into herself. She needed relief from what was building to be one of the better orgasms of her life.

 

If this was what over a decade of hostility amounted to, she wished she’d despised more people.

 

The feeling of his strong hands grasping her ankles and yanking her to the edge of the bed brought her back to the moment.

 

“Now,” he kissed the inside of her calf over her leggings and she jerked at the sensation. “Do you want me to vanish these or shall I remove them?”

 

“Erm,” Hermione didn’t understand the question, she was occupied with the image of Draco Malfoy’s head between her knees.

 

She sucked in a breath as she felt his lips kiss her inner thigh.

 

“Evanesco.”

 

Hermione barely had time to yelp when she felt the air meet her naked skin. Her hands immediately moved to cover herself, and she realized that she still had her panties on.

 

“Move your hands, Hermione,” He nipped at one of her fingers. She moved her hands to fist at the sheets on either side of her.

 

“You seems to have made quite a mess down here,” he murmured. She could feel the heat of his breath near her most intimate place and her hips bucked involuntarily.

 

“Shhh,” he put his hands at the apex of her thighs to steady her.

 

An incoherent moan ripped from her chest as she felt his thumb push the fabric of her panties against her. He cursed again as her hips jerked and she arched her back.

 

His thumb rubbed at her entrance in little circles, spreading the slick she had created until the thin material of her panties slid against her.

 

Her hand came down reflexively to try to pull his hand to her aching, swollen nub. She was so close.

 

“I can’t,” she whimpered, trying to get him to touch her where it would count.

 

He gently but firmly pushed her hand back down to the sheets while he continued his maddening exploration.

 

Hermione tried to process the sensations rushing through her body. Every swipe of his thumb sent pleasure running through the over-sensitized nerves in her body.

 

She was vaguely aware that she was making a lot of noise.

 

Suddenly his fingers pulled away, leaving her with the acute ache of denial. She hugged her arms to the sides of her breasts resisting the urge to run her fingers over her sensitized peaks.

 

“Please,” she begged.

 

Just as she was about to curse him, she felt something soft and warm teasing at her entrance. She looked down in shock, to see his head buried between her thighs and his tongue running over the fabric of her panties.

 

His fingers slipped under the lining of her panties and palm her ass before he tugged the ruined scrap of fabric down her legs and off.

 

_Wet. Fuck._

 

The thought barely made an imprint as she found herself blank. His tongue gently but firmly swiped around her clit.

 

She squirmed and tore at the sheets with her hands, feeling shocks of pleasure feather out across her skin. It was a slow build, as he pushed her steadily toward the edge.

 

Her hands were in his hair and her thighs trembled at the onslaught of sensation.

 

“Ahhhh,” she tried to form words. “I’m close.”

 

He didn’t respond except to continue. His hands were on her thighs, holding her in place.

 

The orgasm hit like a stunning spell, taking the air out of her lungs. Every muscle in her body tensed as pleasure cascaded through her body.

 

After what seemed like a full minute, she finally exhaled in a moan, though her inner muscles continued to clench as the aftershocks rolled through her.

 

Her body was loose and languid. She felt like she was made of molten lava. She looked down drowsily to see where Draco had gone only to find him sitting to her side, staring at her. She smiled at him and reached out to touch him.

 

“Shirt off.” His voice was deep and husky. His lips were swollen, and she blushed as she realized why. 

 

Hermione sat up and struggled to pull the hem of her tank top over her head, squirming to get it past her shoulders and hair. Her muscles weren’t working properly. She huffed at the exertion and caught the corner of Draco’s mouth twitch upwards.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him and then eyed his trousers, which were still inexplicably on.

 

“Your turn,” she responded with a stubborn tilt of her chin, crossing her arms over her sports bra. His eyes flicked to her chest once.

 

Draco pushed off the bed to stand and remove his trousers. She admired the muscles in his arms as they flexed and the lines in his back as he bent to free his legs. For a moment she thought he’d leave his black briefs on, but then they came off too.

 

Her breathing hitched as she took in all of him. Hermione’s arousal, which had been blessedly quiet, came roaring back as she processed what they were about to do.

 

He wasn’t fully erect anymore, but what was visible was extremely promising.

 

She backed up unconsciously and he moved over to sit on the bed next to her.

 

Draco’s eyes were locked onto her Muggle athletic bra, and she realized abruptly how odd the undergarment must look to a wizard.

 

“It’s for sports and training,” she clarified.

 

His brow furrowed at her words and he looked at her for a moment.

 

“Yes, I can infer,” he said with another twitch of his lips. “I’m more concerned with what’s underneath it.

 

“Oh, right.” She blushed furiously and her hands moved to remove it. She thanked the gods that she’d worn the one with the zipper and she wouldn’t have to get it past her hair.

She felt her breasts fall free as she pulled the zipper down.

 

Her nipples tightened as they met the cool air and she resisted the urge to cover them.

 

There was a beat as he looked at her. She felt her cheeks heat at the attention. He reached out to brush the swell of her breast, and she shivered.

 

“So soft,” he murmured. His thumb dragged over her nipple and dragged a needy moan from her lips.

 

He blinked and the intense focus cleared from his face. His eyes met hers.

 

They crashed into each other the same time, quickly regaining the momentum that had been lost. Her bare chest crushed against his, and she relished the new friction.

 

Draco licked a path down her neck until he reached her nipples, which he took his time teasing into rigid peaks. Hermione’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she felt the wetness between her legs slip out of and onto the bedsheets.

 

She reached down and grasped his erection. Draco sucked in a breath and the cool air on her nipple caused her hand to clench. He moaned brokenly and she felt the muscles in his abdomen clench.

 

He was incredibly hard and just thick enough to make her heart flutter. She ran her finger over the tip and spread the pre-cum collected there over the head.

 

“Hermione,” he groaned. “I need to—“

 

“Yes,” she urged him breathily.

 

Draco pushed her over onto her back and she spread her legs readily. He moved his hand down to adjust himself.

 

They both moaned as the swollen head of his cock made contact with her. His hips jutted forward, sliding the shaft against her clit and she cried out. She moaned as he pulled back, torn between wanting that again or wanting him inside her.

 

He positioned himself lower this time and Hermione’s eyes popped open at the sensation of being stretched as he sank into her.

 

Draco’s jaw clenched and then went slack as he pushed into her with a harsh breath. He bent over their bodies, putting his hands on either side of her head and leaned down to kiss her. She gasped into his mouth as the position caused him to sink deeper.

 

“Wait.” She grabbed his bicep to keep him in place. 

 

A sheen of sweat had formed over his skin. He pressed his forehead into hers again.

 

“Are you ok?” He panted out. His eyes were closed in concentration.

 

“Mmm.” Hermione nodded faintly stroking his back lazily. “Just wait.”

 

She breathed deeply, waiting for her body to adjust.

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

She began nodding, then shook her head as she adjusted to the feeling of being so full.

 

“It feels good.”

 

After a few moments, she looked up to find Draco watching her intently, like he was studying her.

 

“It’s ok, I’m ok.” she leaned up to kiss him.

 

He brushed her lips gently.

 

Then he began to move.

 

The first few thrusts still allowed Hermione to think, and she used them to appreciate the physique of the man on top of her. Every movement after that quickly became a blur as it pushed towards her second orgasm of the night.

 

He started murmuring things as he moved, but Hermione was too far gone to understand. She arched her hips up to meet his, and he hissed “Witch” at her through his teeth before doubling his pace.

 

She clawed at his arms and sobbed his name.

 

This time, as she came, it was with the deep satisfaction of being stretched full. Her inner muscles clenched rhythmically, and she cried out.

 

Vaguely she felt his pace stutter and a muffled groan escape his lips before he collapsed on top of her. She whimpered as he pulled out of her, resenting the feeling of emptiness that followed.

 

He shifted over to lay beside her and she instinctively curled into the heat of his body. Exhaustion swept through her and she only barely realized that the room was pitch black again before she passed out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: That is the first sex scene I've ever written. I challenged myself to write an "intimate" scene way back when I was in college in a creative writing course that had nothing to do with my major. I ended up chickening out then, but have attempted to redeem myself.
> 
> Hoo, boy.


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